.
Tuesday, January 13, 2010 8:47:20 PM
i thought i might use microsoft word, and was prompted to choose a template by this name, ‘blank and recent’. i could not seem to get it out of autocorrect and gave up, but it set me thinking.
it is me.
tsuki is home from the hospital today, but back tomorrow and the next. he has new pills and daily injections and must drink lots of water. there is risk of kidney damage or deafness. the doctors are confident he will heal quickly. i spent $723 tonight.
i look forward to the colbert report when i come home. it is in high def online now, and they've built a new set. it is good to see that the world is bigger than my own sadness, and that the sadness of everything can be funny. irony is the ultimate dichotomy. comedy, tragedy. opposing, but not oppositional.
or maybe it is death opposing life.
but death is irony as well. don't you think?
there is a neon green icon on my desktop that reads "2:00". it is an alarm i downloaded in mexico. i could not use my phone because of roaming charges, and i did not bring an alarm with me, although i did manage to remember four months worth of acne cream, peptol bismol and candles. the program plays a song that came as a sample with my itunes. bells, xylophone maybe. plucking. crawling. it is beautiful and so still. i remember waking to it with the roosters thinking "this is mexico in the morning". smiling.
.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
wounded.
.
Wednesday, January 15, 2010 5:32:38 PM
there is a lot of sadness happening around me.
i think of this, and then in the background there is port au prince, and vic chesnutt, and all the people with tragedies that creativity and a new perspective and maybe even time do not soothe.
some people are light feathered. i do not know what this means, but it came to me, those words together, and i thought i would just write them that way. they suffer like bugs at the peak of a cattail in a wind storm.
in my dreams, i know how to let go. it is relief. it does not matter if i land on grass or water and must clamber again frailly to the top, or cartwheel stiffly into the mouth of some creature in waiting, or plunk on my side with one eye to the clouds and breathe into death. it is not painful.
in my dreams, because in my life, i am not so graceful.
maybe none of us are.
tsuki had his plate removed yesterday. he contracted two new infections which require dangerous antibiotics. i am bringing him back daily to change his sugar bandage, which has been successful at forming new tissue to steadily close his wound. he is sad and sleepy, but lets me cuddle him on the floor and kiss him anywhere i want to.
citta is batting at his cone, and eating all his bouillon cubes out of the water dish, and licking his whole face and distracting him from pain. a good companion.
resiliency is a trait i think we will not need in other worlds.
.
Wednesday, January 15, 2010 5:32:38 PM
there is a lot of sadness happening around me.
i think of this, and then in the background there is port au prince, and vic chesnutt, and all the people with tragedies that creativity and a new perspective and maybe even time do not soothe.
some people are light feathered. i do not know what this means, but it came to me, those words together, and i thought i would just write them that way. they suffer like bugs at the peak of a cattail in a wind storm.
in my dreams, i know how to let go. it is relief. it does not matter if i land on grass or water and must clamber again frailly to the top, or cartwheel stiffly into the mouth of some creature in waiting, or plunk on my side with one eye to the clouds and breathe into death. it is not painful.
in my dreams, because in my life, i am not so graceful.
maybe none of us are.
tsuki had his plate removed yesterday. he contracted two new infections which require dangerous antibiotics. i am bringing him back daily to change his sugar bandage, which has been successful at forming new tissue to steadily close his wound. he is sad and sleepy, but lets me cuddle him on the floor and kiss him anywhere i want to.
citta is batting at his cone, and eating all his bouillon cubes out of the water dish, and licking his whole face and distracting him from pain. a good companion.
resiliency is a trait i think we will not need in other worlds.
.
vast.
.
Thursday, January 14, 2010 5:51:59 PM
i think most of us are over the edge.
it looks like a vague severance of our soul intentions. that doesn’t mean that we are not doing good work, or connecting with others, or experiencing enlightened moments of gratitude in each day. but on some larger scale, we are wandering in this life, growing layers over our hearts. pausing too long. watching our own cycles with helpless and diffident awe. or maybe each life we endure the removal of some outer skin and feel our own fragility and tenderness and that is why everything can feel amplified. devastating, like tremendous.
i always have the sense, though, that something has to come off. i think of all the times i say i don’t know and wonder what if i do. what if i did not let myself get away with so many tricks.
metamorphosis has always struck me as an important word. i think of mountains, not butterflies.
seventeen of my report cards were returned to me this afternoon with piles of post-it note corrections for my spanish comments. why couldn’t they have revised these in the system, i thought, it would have taken less time. i felt punished. embarrassed. confounded by spanish grammar i accept i will never understand without a commitment to living in the language for so many years. retirement, maybe. i felt myself glaring at the hispanic woman who turned the wrong way into the school parking lot as i was attempting to peal out. you are the reason my evening will drain me, i thought. and then i was guilty. and changed the subject in my mind; i wonder if anyone would notice if i wore jeans tomorrow? why do i always get stuck in this lane? will the doctor know i am clumsy with syringes?
he did. he told me to do it like they do on tv. i laughed and forgave his condescension, since he cut my bandage bills in half. he has a lot of power.
men look like their penises. i think of that every time i see him, because he is kind of a dick. i dare myself to call him by his first name, because i am sure he would hate that. he might be gay if his natural impulses were not so concealed in some overconfident pretense of manhood.
i think of this about lots of men. i know it is not their fault, but i think it anyway.
.
Thursday, January 14, 2010 5:51:59 PM
i think most of us are over the edge.
it looks like a vague severance of our soul intentions. that doesn’t mean that we are not doing good work, or connecting with others, or experiencing enlightened moments of gratitude in each day. but on some larger scale, we are wandering in this life, growing layers over our hearts. pausing too long. watching our own cycles with helpless and diffident awe. or maybe each life we endure the removal of some outer skin and feel our own fragility and tenderness and that is why everything can feel amplified. devastating, like tremendous.
i always have the sense, though, that something has to come off. i think of all the times i say i don’t know and wonder what if i do. what if i did not let myself get away with so many tricks.
metamorphosis has always struck me as an important word. i think of mountains, not butterflies.
seventeen of my report cards were returned to me this afternoon with piles of post-it note corrections for my spanish comments. why couldn’t they have revised these in the system, i thought, it would have taken less time. i felt punished. embarrassed. confounded by spanish grammar i accept i will never understand without a commitment to living in the language for so many years. retirement, maybe. i felt myself glaring at the hispanic woman who turned the wrong way into the school parking lot as i was attempting to peal out. you are the reason my evening will drain me, i thought. and then i was guilty. and changed the subject in my mind; i wonder if anyone would notice if i wore jeans tomorrow? why do i always get stuck in this lane? will the doctor know i am clumsy with syringes?
he did. he told me to do it like they do on tv. i laughed and forgave his condescension, since he cut my bandage bills in half. he has a lot of power.
men look like their penises. i think of that every time i see him, because he is kind of a dick. i dare myself to call him by his first name, because i am sure he would hate that. he might be gay if his natural impulses were not so concealed in some overconfident pretense of manhood.
i think of this about lots of men. i know it is not their fault, but i think it anyway.
.
edge.
.
Friday, January 15, 2010 4:05:05 PM
my students are hilarious. they have catch phrases, and awkward hairdos, and bad comebacks and predictabilities. i am zen this week, accepting who they are, doling out check pluses and zeros and wet stamps and tickets and knowing it is what it is. i have not stressed over them or patronized them or shut them down in their nine-year-old egocentric glee. we have balanced each other out.
of course, i can't say this without immediately realizing that next week will be a challenge. this is the cycle. dawit will do nothing for one more day, and jonathan will make that irritating noise, and angela won't read the poem again in the morning and skyler will beg to be first at everything. angelic will care more about fifth grade and pedro will shout everything he speaks and valentina will vanish into a crowd of more competent others. joseph will smell badly and esau will mumble 'no' under his breath and german will draw everyone's illustrations for friday's reading response because he is that good. and paula will write amazing similes. and tc will cry when he moves his clothespin. and angie will speak like an adult and write like a toddler. i could go on, and i think i must soon.
.
Friday, January 15, 2010 4:05:05 PM
my students are hilarious. they have catch phrases, and awkward hairdos, and bad comebacks and predictabilities. i am zen this week, accepting who they are, doling out check pluses and zeros and wet stamps and tickets and knowing it is what it is. i have not stressed over them or patronized them or shut them down in their nine-year-old egocentric glee. we have balanced each other out.
of course, i can't say this without immediately realizing that next week will be a challenge. this is the cycle. dawit will do nothing for one more day, and jonathan will make that irritating noise, and angela won't read the poem again in the morning and skyler will beg to be first at everything. angelic will care more about fifth grade and pedro will shout everything he speaks and valentina will vanish into a crowd of more competent others. joseph will smell badly and esau will mumble 'no' under his breath and german will draw everyone's illustrations for friday's reading response because he is that good. and paula will write amazing similes. and tc will cry when he moves his clothespin. and angie will speak like an adult and write like a toddler. i could go on, and i think i must soon.
.
in nature.
.
Sunday, January 17, 2010 10:10:22 PM
in nature, everything is structured, even what appears as randomness; there may be no difference. i heard a quote once that mathematics is the language of god. i would use this defense if i chose to study it.
i have sliced my knees by mistake with the razor in symmetrical spots. it didn't hurt either time, but reminded me of how clumsy i have always been with my body, throwing it against paved and woodland surfaces and stretching it against mountains, and gravely spots, and persistent classroom obstacles, and lifting heavy things into its softest spots. i am not graceful. the blood trickles so gently and sticks to my jeans. i like the feeling of fabric on hairless skin, and the small bleeding is not gruesome. it spun with the water into the drain and i stood fascinated by the living flow of color inside me. they say that under the skin it is blue.
i want to kiss the earth today. the sun has been generous these days, and i have remembered that i am alive in the light. the dogs want more space, and tsuki needs practice remembering that his $7000 dollar leg is actually functional.
.
Sunday, January 17, 2010 10:10:22 PM
in nature, everything is structured, even what appears as randomness; there may be no difference. i heard a quote once that mathematics is the language of god. i would use this defense if i chose to study it.
i have sliced my knees by mistake with the razor in symmetrical spots. it didn't hurt either time, but reminded me of how clumsy i have always been with my body, throwing it against paved and woodland surfaces and stretching it against mountains, and gravely spots, and persistent classroom obstacles, and lifting heavy things into its softest spots. i am not graceful. the blood trickles so gently and sticks to my jeans. i like the feeling of fabric on hairless skin, and the small bleeding is not gruesome. it spun with the water into the drain and i stood fascinated by the living flow of color inside me. they say that under the skin it is blue.
i want to kiss the earth today. the sun has been generous these days, and i have remembered that i am alive in the light. the dogs want more space, and tsuki needs practice remembering that his $7000 dollar leg is actually functional.
.
emotional intelligence.
.
Monday, January 18, 2010 11:34:52 AM
i heard an interview with a doctor who went to therapy to internalize strategies for rewiring his brain to associate new feelings with the absolutist thoughts that were telling him "this will never work out,” and “you are a terrible surgeon”. he didn't know that he would not be eradicating these thoughts all together, only linking new judgments to them. he now teaches ten-year-olds to analyze their self-talk by filling in thought bubbles in comic strips, helping them to take perspective and then to reflect on their own intuitive reactions to given scenarios of stress. some see that they retreat; others confront. some feel shame, failure, or sense injustice and defend what is right. he says that we have more power than we think over our feelings, and that facing disappointment can feel good or bad depending on how we look at it. the students seemed to enjoy this point, or at the very least, the activity of reading and revising comic strips and talking about ideas.
what a great activity, i think to myself. before i ‘became’ a teacher, i would have thought of trying this with my own students. but i see i have now become so indoctrinated into some standardized framework of ‘effective’ lesson planning that i suspect i would not know how to defend the lack of academic rigor in any curriculum for emotional intelligence to my principal or myself. it is not strange anymore, what is expected. it is a language i speak. and because it is superficially safer to mimic the priorities of my conservative institution, and because most of my energy is being used to implement our holy grail of ‘balanced’ literacy instruction (and attend redundant meetings, and fashion wall decor portraying the image of scholarly precision and goal orientation, and gape over convoluted data exhibiting benchmark performance of student groups existing in another time and place), i do not spend my weekends researching ways to nurture emotional intelligence or character development or spiritual health in the classroom. it is a small miracle i get away with yoga before math.
when i approached my principal about the esl position that is opening next year, she was tentative. ‘i like the idea of you as an intervention teacher,’ she lied, ‘but i like you in the classroom, too.’
i feel like a food inebriated fly that is trapped on the edge of an open window, and does not know that it only needs to fly out to be free.
yesterday i called the police on a fight that broke out behind a coffee counter in colorado springs. a man, who several customers had complained was behaving disturbingly, lunged at the barista after he was asked to leave. the clerk, so thin and gangly, bled down his face after a heavy blow, and shouted repeatedly that he would defend himself as he inched back, and back, and back. the cake display was knocked over, and i could see the strange man reaching for things to strike or throw. i fled from the shop immediately and then wondered who i had left behind in danger. as i was on the phone with the police, the attacker was eventually thrust out of the cafe by several other customers who had rushed down the stairs to save the day. i could not believe what had happened.
i am fascinated by so many hatians who contest that god has invited this earth quake as an opportunity for the community to grow stronger. randomness is only random to those without omniscience. anything can happen at anytime. people say this.
there is too much to do today. the dogs, the car, the belated birthday dinner i promised my brother, the dreaded return call to my other, who is in jail. the sun is beckoning me to my nature of wild abandon. i will sing up the mountainside and know that in another life i was someone famous.
.
Monday, January 18, 2010 11:34:52 AM
i heard an interview with a doctor who went to therapy to internalize strategies for rewiring his brain to associate new feelings with the absolutist thoughts that were telling him "this will never work out,” and “you are a terrible surgeon”. he didn't know that he would not be eradicating these thoughts all together, only linking new judgments to them. he now teaches ten-year-olds to analyze their self-talk by filling in thought bubbles in comic strips, helping them to take perspective and then to reflect on their own intuitive reactions to given scenarios of stress. some see that they retreat; others confront. some feel shame, failure, or sense injustice and defend what is right. he says that we have more power than we think over our feelings, and that facing disappointment can feel good or bad depending on how we look at it. the students seemed to enjoy this point, or at the very least, the activity of reading and revising comic strips and talking about ideas.
what a great activity, i think to myself. before i ‘became’ a teacher, i would have thought of trying this with my own students. but i see i have now become so indoctrinated into some standardized framework of ‘effective’ lesson planning that i suspect i would not know how to defend the lack of academic rigor in any curriculum for emotional intelligence to my principal or myself. it is not strange anymore, what is expected. it is a language i speak. and because it is superficially safer to mimic the priorities of my conservative institution, and because most of my energy is being used to implement our holy grail of ‘balanced’ literacy instruction (and attend redundant meetings, and fashion wall decor portraying the image of scholarly precision and goal orientation, and gape over convoluted data exhibiting benchmark performance of student groups existing in another time and place), i do not spend my weekends researching ways to nurture emotional intelligence or character development or spiritual health in the classroom. it is a small miracle i get away with yoga before math.
when i approached my principal about the esl position that is opening next year, she was tentative. ‘i like the idea of you as an intervention teacher,’ she lied, ‘but i like you in the classroom, too.’
i feel like a food inebriated fly that is trapped on the edge of an open window, and does not know that it only needs to fly out to be free.
yesterday i called the police on a fight that broke out behind a coffee counter in colorado springs. a man, who several customers had complained was behaving disturbingly, lunged at the barista after he was asked to leave. the clerk, so thin and gangly, bled down his face after a heavy blow, and shouted repeatedly that he would defend himself as he inched back, and back, and back. the cake display was knocked over, and i could see the strange man reaching for things to strike or throw. i fled from the shop immediately and then wondered who i had left behind in danger. as i was on the phone with the police, the attacker was eventually thrust out of the cafe by several other customers who had rushed down the stairs to save the day. i could not believe what had happened.
i am fascinated by so many hatians who contest that god has invited this earth quake as an opportunity for the community to grow stronger. randomness is only random to those without omniscience. anything can happen at anytime. people say this.
there is too much to do today. the dogs, the car, the belated birthday dinner i promised my brother, the dreaded return call to my other, who is in jail. the sun is beckoning me to my nature of wild abandon. i will sing up the mountainside and know that in another life i was someone famous.
.
sarasvati.
.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010 7:43:12 PM
jared called me last week to report that he needed a thousand dollars, “like a get out of jail free card”. i foolishly assumed he had dialed to confirm some amount he had sent to repay his last debt to me. i received his message in the car on voicemail, brief and unemotional. realizing that i was experiencing the launch of a panic attack, i tried to put the matter out of my mind and resist confronting any possible shadowy reasons for his arrest, or my willing role as the ostensible champion of the fatefully less fortunate in my family.
days later, my mother reported that jared was detained for driving without insurance or a license, and at last apprehended for his warrant out on fines due years prior in michigan. he had a court date today for the matter, which i would be astounded and relieved to hear he attended. i predict he will put in some months in the county jail, more months of community service, thousands in fees which he will work even more months to return.
my brothers are the seed of something inside of me, which swirled against my skin in utero but did not permeate my blood. i do not live their life only by a step of fortune, a degree of grit, an upbringing of favoritism. there is no telling why i look upon their vagrancy as an outsider, i have not acted in my life with intention enough to elude their plight of a cloudy existence. i think of aging friends, and realize this could befall me at any time. roaming, loss, a pale face in the mirror asking
what happened?
my mother cried apologies for her invented burden of emotion. “every time he tries to make a fresh start he just falls on his face,” she sighed, “i don’t know why.”
i cannot be as helpless as i imagine.
this morning at 8:38 i asked my students to declare something they were good at. our poem was about ‘bad-shot betty’ who displays terrible aim, and the schema question (i love it) invited them to explore their own talents. as i listened to them declare their skill in soccer, running, wrestling (angela!), writing, headstands underwater, and being a person (oh TC), i remembered that they are so, so beautiful. “this is important,” i described. “remember that you are here to discover what you are very good at. and if you do not know it yet, pay attention to what you love.”
i am good at giving good advice. :)
tomorrow is a late start day, and it will speed by. i realized this week that someday i will have to say goodbye to these tiny people, and that will be hard. i did not think we were very connected. it has surprised me.
.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010 7:43:12 PM
jared called me last week to report that he needed a thousand dollars, “like a get out of jail free card”. i foolishly assumed he had dialed to confirm some amount he had sent to repay his last debt to me. i received his message in the car on voicemail, brief and unemotional. realizing that i was experiencing the launch of a panic attack, i tried to put the matter out of my mind and resist confronting any possible shadowy reasons for his arrest, or my willing role as the ostensible champion of the fatefully less fortunate in my family.
days later, my mother reported that jared was detained for driving without insurance or a license, and at last apprehended for his warrant out on fines due years prior in michigan. he had a court date today for the matter, which i would be astounded and relieved to hear he attended. i predict he will put in some months in the county jail, more months of community service, thousands in fees which he will work even more months to return.
my brothers are the seed of something inside of me, which swirled against my skin in utero but did not permeate my blood. i do not live their life only by a step of fortune, a degree of grit, an upbringing of favoritism. there is no telling why i look upon their vagrancy as an outsider, i have not acted in my life with intention enough to elude their plight of a cloudy existence. i think of aging friends, and realize this could befall me at any time. roaming, loss, a pale face in the mirror asking
what happened?
my mother cried apologies for her invented burden of emotion. “every time he tries to make a fresh start he just falls on his face,” she sighed, “i don’t know why.”
i cannot be as helpless as i imagine.
this morning at 8:38 i asked my students to declare something they were good at. our poem was about ‘bad-shot betty’ who displays terrible aim, and the schema question (i love it) invited them to explore their own talents. as i listened to them declare their skill in soccer, running, wrestling (angela!), writing, headstands underwater, and being a person (oh TC), i remembered that they are so, so beautiful. “this is important,” i described. “remember that you are here to discover what you are very good at. and if you do not know it yet, pay attention to what you love.”
i am good at giving good advice. :)
tomorrow is a late start day, and it will speed by. i realized this week that someday i will have to say goodbye to these tiny people, and that will be hard. i did not think we were very connected. it has surprised me.
.
anamga-madana-lekha.
.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010 9:31:27 PM
i could not get out of bed this morning. citta tried to wake me with kisses and snorts every time the alarm sounded. i hid under the blankets from each of her attacks, even though the air became dense and difficult to breathe. she loves the morning, as you know, trailing at my heels wherever i roam and flaunting everything that is hers. my yard! my bed! my food dish! my water! my brother! so hard to discipline an entertaining child.
i got caught up in exploring sanskrit last night. it is no wonder the language is studied like a religion, ceremonial, symbolic, ideological. frayer thinks he is clever designing concept maps and graphic organizers to help young minds absorb new words. but sanskrit is an original anthology of concept maps. volumes and volumes of archaic, affiliated transliterations. one word means heart, mind, intention, aim, memory, reflection, wish, all of these. interesting how ancient things seem closer to god. (why i love antique malls.) :)
it occurred to me as i shined my heart to the earth in yoga class tonight that sanskrit is the revived liturgical language of hinduism and buddhism, which is fascinating because one of my 2010 intentions is to study eastern religion, and i did not know what this meant until now.
yesterday morning i announced to my students that we were off on our boat to a faraway land in the east, and as we exited onto the shore, dawn was creeping. and we gazed from the indian sun to the faces of our friends and greeted each other in sanskrit.
our greeting commences the day, and we always choose some form of transportation to arrive wherever we might speak it.
last week we flew to haiti in a unicef cargo plane.
they say good morning in seventy-six languages.
things seem to be healing with tsuki. he gets his last injection tomorrow, which is a relief since i am not convinced i have executed the other nine properly. he cries each time, once squirming away with the syringe still fixed in his skin. i was told to pull back initially, confirming that i have not hit a vein, but there is really no time for precautions. tomorrow morning i will drop him off for yet another bandage change, and will spend the day practicing remembering to pick him up after school before class. linguistic analysis of english. we will see how that goes.
i am sleepy. my mind reels with one thousand anecdotes for every thought that surfaces, or doesn’t:
i enjoy the trickling water from the fish tank. it is the real reason i have not yet returned it to school.
getting into instant coffee. tragic or trendsetting?
the very tall plant looks melancholy and i do not know what else to try.
i am craving a food i haven’t experienced.
dishwasher is broken again and the water’s been sitting for a week and i can’t remember who fixed it last time and seem to have no paperwork backing the lifetime guarantee i recall or imagined.
i need to reach out more. i need to reach out more.
tomorrow is only thursday.
sleep is a gift.
.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010 9:31:27 PM
i could not get out of bed this morning. citta tried to wake me with kisses and snorts every time the alarm sounded. i hid under the blankets from each of her attacks, even though the air became dense and difficult to breathe. she loves the morning, as you know, trailing at my heels wherever i roam and flaunting everything that is hers. my yard! my bed! my food dish! my water! my brother! so hard to discipline an entertaining child.
i got caught up in exploring sanskrit last night. it is no wonder the language is studied like a religion, ceremonial, symbolic, ideological. frayer thinks he is clever designing concept maps and graphic organizers to help young minds absorb new words. but sanskrit is an original anthology of concept maps. volumes and volumes of archaic, affiliated transliterations. one word means heart, mind, intention, aim, memory, reflection, wish, all of these. interesting how ancient things seem closer to god. (why i love antique malls.) :)
it occurred to me as i shined my heart to the earth in yoga class tonight that sanskrit is the revived liturgical language of hinduism and buddhism, which is fascinating because one of my 2010 intentions is to study eastern religion, and i did not know what this meant until now.
yesterday morning i announced to my students that we were off on our boat to a faraway land in the east, and as we exited onto the shore, dawn was creeping. and we gazed from the indian sun to the faces of our friends and greeted each other in sanskrit.
our greeting commences the day, and we always choose some form of transportation to arrive wherever we might speak it.
last week we flew to haiti in a unicef cargo plane.
they say good morning in seventy-six languages.
things seem to be healing with tsuki. he gets his last injection tomorrow, which is a relief since i am not convinced i have executed the other nine properly. he cries each time, once squirming away with the syringe still fixed in his skin. i was told to pull back initially, confirming that i have not hit a vein, but there is really no time for precautions. tomorrow morning i will drop him off for yet another bandage change, and will spend the day practicing remembering to pick him up after school before class. linguistic analysis of english. we will see how that goes.
i am sleepy. my mind reels with one thousand anecdotes for every thought that surfaces, or doesn’t:
i enjoy the trickling water from the fish tank. it is the real reason i have not yet returned it to school.
getting into instant coffee. tragic or trendsetting?
the very tall plant looks melancholy and i do not know what else to try.
i am craving a food i haven’t experienced.
dishwasher is broken again and the water’s been sitting for a week and i can’t remember who fixed it last time and seem to have no paperwork backing the lifetime guarantee i recall or imagined.
i need to reach out more. i need to reach out more.
tomorrow is only thursday.
sleep is a gift.
.
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