Prophecy

When I was little, all of the littles from teeny to tall, my grandmama and mom were always losing a contact lense. Oops, stop everything, a contact is on the floor. And I always found it, and Grandmama would say, "You have such sharp eyes, Lou!" She said it every time, and sometimes, "Miss Lou, will you help me with your sharp eyes."

It made me feel like I had a special talent. So I would look extra hard, always, to be sure I found it.

I'm sitting here at work, now, finding spelling errors in 4pt type, thinking, I have such sharp eyes.

And I don't, in fact I need new glasses, but there's that part of me that still cheers Me on, "you have sharp eyes, you're awesome!"

And I still work really hard to find things, in fact, my work is all about finding tiny little problems using my sharp eyes.

I've come to realize I can build the same kind of confidence in my daughter, in whatever way I want. So, I tell her all the time how nice she is. I'm hoping she always strives to be nice. Soon I'll do a variation on it, "Rx, you have such a kind heart...you make people feel happy with your kind heart."

Happy 73rd JL

Forgot to wish John Happy Birthday yesterday.
What?
I know he's dead. It doesn't matter.
Huh?
No, it doesn't. Open your eyes.

Adjust your medication

WWHD

     "I have a theory that the truth is never told
           during the nine-to-five hours."

I've been battling an incompetent higher-up for months now and the battle just came to a head. Not using correct grammar has won out. Not using meaningful words and not being concerned about readability won. Even vocabulary lost, making way for using words that don't mean what we say they mean (like complimentary vs. complementary, because, "no one knows what they mean anyway, and it doesn't really matter.")

Maybe I truly am not meant – with all my wanting to be grammatically correct and meaningful – to be in "advertising."

So what did I do after a terrifying showdown in which I was told a story of a woman who was fired for pushing hyphen use too hard, "Don't let what happened to the hyphen queen happen to you" ??
 

For this sweep of absurdity, and disrespect for words, I did the only thing I could do: I turned to Hunter S. Thompson.

For 7 hours I listened to him mumble words of wisdom and sensibility. And it worked. I got my head back on straight.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

I edited a document the other day that acquainted me with two newly-common monetary abbreviations.

$1M = one million
$1B = one billion

It is also correct to abbreviate billion with two Ms = $1MM.

I hope the People who Decide These Things have something in place for trillions, because I'm pretty sure that's on deck. 

Pete Died

I'm at work. Excited because Guy is on his way back from an emergency business trip to China. My mother-in-law has been staying with me to help with Rx. It's been fun.

The phone rings. I pick up.

"Hello?" I hear Guy and a weird sound, I don't know what it is, but it isn't "Hi."
"What?"
"PETE DIED!"
The words hit like a bullet, but like I'm hearing it through a tunnel. Like a dream. Like a nightmare, like a red hot iron. It's impossible that I'm hearing these words. His voice, thin, cracking, from the brink. Before I can think, I tell him, "I'll call you right back."

I'm swift. I have to be. I'm about to fall apart in such a way that cannot be public at all. My body is ripping in half, my brain is spilling out, it would be...inappropriate in cube-land, here in corporate world, it would be messy, this is private. I walk straight to a conference room and close the door. I dial Guy.

"What HAPPENED???"

Some people think it's crazy to be surprised by someone who abused drugs to die from drugs. But it surprises me completely. No, you don't think your friends are gonna die. No, you don't expect a hole to be ripped open in the sky, in the fabric, in space-time. No, because they are there, always there. Their voice is in your voicemail, their text is fresh, still sitting there. No, no matter what has happened, happens every day, they won't just disappear.

I thought he would recover from his addiction, and not only that, but grow to be the kind of man other displaced souls gravitate towards for compassion. I saw him being a leader, a quiet one. I saw him finding love again. I saw him maybe even becoming a dad at the age of 50. I saw him soft and lovely and open for the rest of my years. Someone to adore always.

I didn't see this.

I am so lucky to have wonderful friends, and so many of them that are very dear. Then there are those friends who touch your heart deeply, those that live right on the edge of your consciousness all the time, familiar like a cell.

He was that.

I drove to the airport to pick up Guy that afternoon. When I got to the top level of the parking structure, I turned the car off and bawled. I took a picture of my face after a break in the bawling to pay respect to him, to show the pain lying in the lines of my face, swelling in the pits of my scars. I took it to remember.

And then I called his number before they turned it off. I left a message, I cried, I cried to him, to his voicemail. That transmission would be my last to his number. Before the wires got cut, when maybe a thin line of energy was still trailing out of this world...

"Pete, I love you, why did you go? Why did you GO?!"

GET OUT!

It actually happened.

The Urban Sombrero made its debut in Milan last week.

Saint Indy and his little Buddy

So proud of where I live and why I won’t leave.

San Anselmo, a small town north of San Francisco, just unveiled two statues in the new park located directly downtown. Townies waited for the unveiling, wondering, “Who are the statues of?  Who could it be?” The question loomed and folks laid down guesses.

Is it the town’s namesake, Saint Anselm? No, said he, no, they wouldn’t do that.

But they would and did do this.

Sudden Thought

John Denver.

(i just wanted to say that).

California Uber Alles

Had this idea on the way to work this morning as the song ripped through my headphones.

I love the smell of punk rock in the morning.