:: I don't know what's going on with the whole multicolored Lanterns thing, except that it keeps reminding me of the Care Bears crossed with Skittles. (Great line. I read some Green Lantern comics in advance of the movie coming out this past summer, and one of them -- Blackest Night -- just had all these Lanterns running around in every possible color, doing battle against seemingly the entire DC universe-turned-zombie. I found the whole thing very odd.)
:: Thank you overalls, thank you very much. I didn’t realize you were a lesbian uniform, or go to closet staple for women who like other women. You’d think I would’ve tossed them or at least tried to trade them back in for something at Buffalo Exchange. But no, I didn’t. (New blog I randomly found. I don't get the whole "overalls equals lesbian" thing, but what do I know?)
:: The nice thing about showing up at the office three quarters of an hour before anyone else is that if you come in looking like death itself, there's no-one there to see it and you can clean yourself up a bit.
:: I've been living inside my head with all of this. I can pinpoint the time when our relationship took a turn. (Jane wears her heart on her sleeve in a pretty amazing way. I'm terrified about ever having my relationship with The Daughter ever devolve like this, and it takes a lot of courage to write about it publicly.)
:: I'm trying to be mindful about focusing more on what's RIGHT than what's uncomfortable. I truly do have a whole lot of blessing going on all around me. Still, it's just hard to be positive when you are hurting.
:: What bliss to open every window in the house and let that fragrant, "it's-almost-autumn-air" waft through. (Huh...Mental Multivitamin disappeared from my blogroll. I must have inadvertently removed it during a reorganization at some point. Rectifying this as soon as I finish collating links for this post!)
:: It was there, in that cold, sterile, metallic doctor's office, as the list of foods I could no longer eat hit my ears with a dull thud and fell to the floor, a useless pile of past pleasures at my feet, that my world, much like the bottom of my food pyramid, dropped out from under me. I pouted. I sobbed. I screamed and yelled and cursed at every Dunkin Donuts I passed. I didn't feel lucky. I felt hungry. (This blog, it turns out, belongs to...umm, let me figure this out...well, it's my cousin's (on my father's side) daughter. What is that, then? Second cousin? Is that how that works? I have next to zero knowledge of the workings of genealogy. Anyway, the main focus on her blog is her requirement to adhere to a gluten-free diet. I had never heard of such a thing until I worked at The Store and met a woman, a co-worker, who is likewise culinarily restricted. Fascinating stuff, and she's a decent writer, too! Apparently wordsmithing is in my gene pool. I hope I don't have some distant cousin I've never met (except for online) out there somewhere laboring on a space opera novel....)
:: During the flight of Apollo 11, in the constant sunlight between the earth and the moon, it was necessary for us to control the temperature of our spacecraft by a slow rotation not unlike that of a chicken on a barbecue spit. As we turned, the earth and the moon alternately appeared in our windows. We had our choice. We could look toward the Moon, toward Mars, toward our future in space — toward the new Indies — or we could look back toward the Earth, our home, with its problems spawned over more than a millennium of human occupancy. (So writes Command Module pilot Michael Collins, some months after the first moon landing. Please don't stop looking toward space!)
More next week!