Category: Daily

After posting yesterday, I met up with an old friend at a gross dive.

We talked about books and theater and the election and music and aging and death and written language and brain dissection and suicide bombers.

And we did it in style.

Then we bolted over to a high school where we sat in a big room and applauded as enchantingly-illumined teenagers in periwigs and bustles cracked wise to the tune of a C-major piano sonata by Mozart before being rescued by their own coats. (Also, during the performance I choked on peanut M&M’s [sic] and when I tried to hold back a cough my tear duct popped out so I had to press it back in while glugging down a bottle of water as tears streamed down the right side of my face. At any given moment, so many things can go wrong!)

The best news? My friend is still my friend.

This morning I had breakfast with my sister and my nephew and during the walk back to my car, I noticed this statue.

Obviously, I fell in love with her.

And then it was time to hit the road for the three hour drive home, but not before picking up some discounted syphilis.

(I had to pass on the gonorrhea. I just don’t have the space for it.)

I just fell in love with this building.

If I lived there, I would be just a few steps away from a Greek restaurant that pushes fries into their falafel sandwiches.

(You might think, as I did, that you would prefer your fries on the side. BUT, doesn’t it all end up in the same place? Why not conserve energy?)

Also nearby is a used bookstore with a cat feature.

The final stop of the day was the best stop of all, because that was the stop during which I got legs.

You just never know.

I went to a memorial service today for a woman I’ve never met. Towards the end of the service, the chaplain said something like, “Know that Judy cared about You. Think about that. And You cared about her because she brought a lot of Joy into the world. She was incredibly Unique and she took Delight in creating art and making the world a more beautiful place. So, remember: Joy. Unique. Delight. You. That’s JUDY.” (See what he did there?)

After the service I jumped in the car and drove three hours west. (The photo above was taken in Lebanon, Missouri, which is where I stopped to stretch my legs and purchase (and eat) a Reese’s Peanut Butter Tree.) During the drive I thought about my name as an acronym and the words that might be used at my funeral to describe me. Then I listened to the new Jon Batiste album. Then I thought about the woman who carried a suitcase filled with chopped up people. Then I listened to part of the Bono memoir. (I’ve never been a huge U2 fan, but the memoir includes music and sound effects and is really great.) Then I drove through a town that smelled like McDonald’s fries and bonfires and it made me feel very happy-sad, which is sort of nice when the sky is dark and the moon is full and the traffic is light and Affable Nocturnal Groovy Empathetic Liberal Avocado.

I guess if you’re squeamish this post might not be for you, but it also depends on what pokes your squeam. Like I mentioned a few days back: I can’t look at drawings of animals dressed up like other animals without feeling nauseated. This is not that.

You can tell I’m stretching for ideas for Fluid Pudding posts when I say things like: I do not absorb vitamin B12 from food or oral supplements.

I used to drive to the doctor’s office every month for a B12 shot, but what a huge inconvenience that was for a person without a full-time job who had nothing but time on her hands! One day I asked the nurse to show me how to shoot myself, so she did. I never went back.

I’m now supposed to give myself a shot every month, but what a huge inconvenience that is for a person who is now working, but spends more than half of her time at home sitting very close to the room where the shot supplies are held! Like I do with many things in life, I wait until things feel weird and then I scramble. Before today, I hadn’t given myself a shot since July. (I know. I KNOW! Just remember that right now it’s (sort of) My Body, MY Choice.)

Look how pretty it is! It looks like Kool-Aid and it protects my myelin sheath!

This is what it looks like when I’m about to put it inside of me. (That sounds dirty but it isn’t—because I use isopropyl alcohol, which cleans your skin AND de-ices your car!)

Here I am pushing in the juice that helps me convert food into energy! Whoosh!

AND, done!

(I’ll probably try harder tomorrow. Thanks for sticking around.)

 

Some people see her as a rodent.
Some people see her as a meal.
My love for October is potent.
You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.

 

(I no longer get emails when someone comments at Fluid Pudding. I’ve tried to fix it, but I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t know how to learn. Thanks to all for dealing with me this month!)

It’s nearly 10pm and I’m flipping through a book that’s half English and half Arabic and I’m not really sure what to share with you, plus I’m not really sure what I’m reading. (I’m convinced that someday I’ll come across a different language that I recognize. It’s already in my brain, but I just haven’t hit that area yet. Clearly, Arabic is not the language I know. I have ancestors from Romania. Stay tuned.)

For lack of any other ideas this evening, please know that the following eight things are true:

1. I recently discovered that I keep my eyes closed when I brush my teeth.
2. I feel super embarrassed when I’m making a soda at the gas station and I have to wait for the foam to go down before I can top it off.
3. I’ve been thinking about the pros and cons of cult activity and thinking about what sort of cult I would join if I were to join one.
4. I average around 4 hours of sleep at night, and I’m afraid it’s because I spent so much time falling asleep in diners during my 20s. I’m so tired.
5. My alarm goes off at 5:40am on weekdays, and I try not to spend more than four songs in the shower.
6. Seeing drawings of animals dressed up like other animals makes me feel sick to my stomach.
7. My favorite sandwich is a bagel with apples, muenster cheese, and just a tiny bit of Dijon or champagne mustard. I feel like I’ve told you this before. It’s still true.
8.  This is what I wore today, and it’s probably what I’ll wear tomorrow, although I’ll switch out the underwear, the tank top, and the socks.

Good night.

I’ve been full of nervous energy this week which has resulted in the accomplishment of two things that have been on my list for months.

(About a year ago I started a List of Three that involved writing down three things that absolutely had to be done on that day. I no longer keep the list at three things, and I no longer require myself to complete everything on the list, but it’s still something I do each morning. My God, this paragraph is excruciating. “Every day I make a list of stuff I need to do and I bet you’ve never heard THAT idea before, right?!” I’m wasting your time.)

Anyway, our bathroom faucet has been drippy for over a year. In the middle of the night I can hear it dripping, which leads to me lying awake and singing songs in my head to the rhythm of the drips (mostly You Light Up My Life by Debby Boone).

(I have no idea why the word Rage appears on the screen near the 10-second mark, but it feels appropriate because of the drip, and by ‘drip’ I mean THE drip. I’m not calling Debby Boone a drip.)

Yesterday morning we had drips. Yesterday afternoon we did not.

This morning my bookshelf looked like this:

This afternoon it looked like this:

Tonight it looks like this:

Top shelf: A few of the books I love.
Second shelf: Books that inspire.
Third shelf: Books full of art.
Bottom shelf: All of my journals and sketch pads.

2025 is for Swedish Death Cleaning, and I’ll bring you along if you want.

*I was driving and I saw a hawk flying with a mouse in his beak, so I asked Siri to take a note.
Siri: What do you want it to say?
Me: Hawk. Flying. With. A. Mouse. In. His. Beak.
Siri: Okay. I have created your note. It is titled Hope Crying With A Mouth In His Feet.
Me: Even better.

Seven years ago I dressed like a different author for each day in November. On November 8, 2017, I was Vladimir Nabokov.

This is one of my favorite Nabokovisms: “Mind you, sometimes the angels smoke, hiding it with their sleeves, and when the archangel comes, they throw the cigarettes away: that’s when you get shooting stars.”

(If you’ve considered reading some Nabokov, you may want to do it soon—before his books potentially become more difficult to find.)

(Also, please listen to the hat.)