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Oh I must be too dumb to the proud
'cause I waited, waited, waited.
-Our Lady Peace
I noticed I didn't write a thing this weekend. Despite a dozen half formed entries, stray observations, and a story I need to be writing for the Author & Artist night at Phoenix Rising, I didn't do any of that. Something needs to shake me out of my inertia. I miss having a creative partner.
My mother's most favorite charity is Coats for Kids. It's sponsored by KVUE and The Junior League of Austin, Jack Brown Cleaners and KASE 101. When I was a kid, my mother would gather up all our old coats that we outgrew and we would take them to the big barrel at the Jack Brown near our house. Or the school would have a barrel. As we got older, my mother started to run out of coats from us. She took to collecting them from neighbors, coworkers, friends. She buys them now too, because we don't grow out of coats the way we used to do. If there's something like this in your community, go donate. I bring this up because the Kansas City Secret Santa is dying of cancer. I think this story is so compelling because it's not about one rich man easing his conscience to pass through the eye of a needle. It's about someone trying to do something good, and there is perhaps not enough of that in this world.
My dreams lately keep me from talking. I lay in bed for an hour after I wake, trying to fit myself back into what's real and what's not. I dreamed about being lost in Moscow, trying to find the People's Square of Fallen Heroes and cursing how government after government changed the name. I dreamed I was someone else, a fairy tale prince, and that skin felt more real than the real thing. I dreamed about going to the doctor's office and hearing a diagnosis of something lethal. I dream often, and vividly.
My bedside lamp has stopped being as functional as it should. I hung blue and white Christmas lights in my room. The pound cake in the oven is almost done.
'cause I waited, waited, waited.
-Our Lady Peace
I noticed I didn't write a thing this weekend. Despite a dozen half formed entries, stray observations, and a story I need to be writing for the Author & Artist night at Phoenix Rising, I didn't do any of that. Something needs to shake me out of my inertia. I miss having a creative partner.
My mother's most favorite charity is Coats for Kids. It's sponsored by KVUE and The Junior League of Austin, Jack Brown Cleaners and KASE 101. When I was a kid, my mother would gather up all our old coats that we outgrew and we would take them to the big barrel at the Jack Brown near our house. Or the school would have a barrel. As we got older, my mother started to run out of coats from us. She took to collecting them from neighbors, coworkers, friends. She buys them now too, because we don't grow out of coats the way we used to do. If there's something like this in your community, go donate. I bring this up because the Kansas City Secret Santa is dying of cancer. I think this story is so compelling because it's not about one rich man easing his conscience to pass through the eye of a needle. It's about someone trying to do something good, and there is perhaps not enough of that in this world.
My dreams lately keep me from talking. I lay in bed for an hour after I wake, trying to fit myself back into what's real and what's not. I dreamed about being lost in Moscow, trying to find the People's Square of Fallen Heroes and cursing how government after government changed the name. I dreamed I was someone else, a fairy tale prince, and that skin felt more real than the real thing. I dreamed about going to the doctor's office and hearing a diagnosis of something lethal. I dream often, and vividly.
My bedside lamp has stopped being as functional as it should. I hung blue and white Christmas lights in my room. The pound cake in the oven is almost done.