Everything you can think of is true

Drivers are so uptight lately.
Honking and gesturing.
I’ve been noticing this since Monday, when I started taking muscle relaxants for my back again.*
They’ve been harshing my mellow at work, too. My supervisor has been all, like, do this, do that. She’s been like, I’ve discovered if I sit here next to you and give you input, you do more work.
On the plus side, great Olympic torch run, guys.
Honestly, on so many levels.
Also: had a nice walk along the creek yesterday morning.
Sunrise reflected on glass-calm water.
Two black bunnies crossed my path.
Then, at lunch, found this video over here. It is the coolest thing I’ve seen lately, except maybe Gamma’s tie-dye shirt, the sunrise and the heron (which will appear later in this post): a scientist giving a great scientific lecture that is rigorously scientific and at the same time so deeply emotional that it had her, her studio audience and me in tears.
Then: on my way home last night, moving slow in traffic on the bridge, got to watch a grey heron fly (real slow, against the wind) across the lanes, right in front of my car, almost at eye level.

I read somewhere, What would you do if you knew you would succeed?

What. What would it be? My first thought: buy a lotto ticket.

I was thinking a few weeks ago, standing outside under a perfect blue sky, about how very happy I am. I was telling this to Beta. The surprisingly big response to my request for voices for the composition had really thrilled me, and I was having a lot of social contacts with a lot of nice people, and I was thinking about a nice guy who has had a dream come true, not only being a talented painter but also making a living at it, and other friends who have achieved things.
And I realized, well, my dream was to live in Europe and make a living as a writer and I’ve achieved the first part. And Beta pointed out that I might have a better chance at achieving the second part if I actually submitted stuff.
Everything you can think of is true. Dick Cheney shits hornet eggs. I publish something finally.
I’ve actually got a couple manuscripts here I want to send to agents and publishers. I have a subscription to writersmarket.com and have been looking thru their listings.
The problem is narrowing that down a bit. How does one go about that, I wonder. One can’t send a submission to every single one all at the same time.
And so on.

*I stopped on Tuesday again, cause you don’t want this to turn into a habit or something.

Morning haiku

Yeah, fuck you too, jerk
Where’d you learn to drive, asshole?
The crescent moon smiles

Otherwise, whatever. There was something I’d been meaning to say but then Heath Ledger, who lives in my lower back now, told me to take another muscle relaxant so I forgot.

It was something clever.

Yesterday I was sitting on the living room floor, meditating after doing a little yoga for the back, very carefully. I realized I was wearing a tie-dye t-shirt. All I need is a gray ponytail now, I thought.

Gamma was supposed to make a purse at school, in her sewing class, but failed utterly and was downcast. Her next project was to make a t-shirt, so we spent the weekend tie-dying t-shirts.

Her assignment was to design a shirt and make it. I suggested making the shirt first, then making a design that looked like the shirt, because harder to go wrong that way.

Her shirt turned out really cool. She wanted diagonal stripes, and she GOT DIAGONAL STRIPES! It was the first time either of us had ever tie-dyed, and it totally turned out.

Mine didn’t turn out so well. The spiral was a spiral, and the other pattern was right too, but I was too impatient with the dye and didn’t squirt on enough, so there’s too much white IMO. But it’s good to know how the patterns work.

Maybe we’ll start a t-shirt company. We could make sand candles too. Or macrame.


That’s like about the only Led Zeppelin lyric I can actually understand.
I was lecturing to Gamma about The Immigrant Song on the way to school yesterday, and watched in the mirror as she rolled her eyes. She gave me a sweet smile when she caught me looking at her, and the look she got when I said I’d love to be in a Led Zeppelin cover band is hard to describe. A lot like the look you get when your father said the same thing, I guess.

Last night at bedtime, she was listening to Dvorak.

“My birthday is in exactly one week,” she said a while ago.

So I’ve been thinking about her birth. I barely made it. I dropped Alpha off at the hospital, went home to get her stuff and a bottle of champagne to celebrate, and a bottle of MacCallan’s in case it took a long time, decided not to shave and got back to the delivery room just in time to see Gamma shoot out like a cork and go boing at the end of the umbilical cord.

The doctor looked at the whisky and said, boy, you Irish know how to have babies. Instead of explaining my family history, I just poured champagne.

When she goes to America this summer, Gamma will be eleven and will attend a marine biology class with her cousin. I attended the same class at the same age and liked it. Maybe that’s why I am such a fish expert now.

This morning, for reasons unknown, I had an earworm, Nena singing 99 Luftballons. As we got ready to leave the house, Gamma started singing it.