Signals

It's been a while since I've felt like posting. In fact, I don't even really feel like it right now, but the thing is, maybe it will yield positive outlook. The past couple of weeks have left me sore and prone to heartbreak. I think sometimes life cycles itself that way depending on your level of tolerance. Mine, it turns out, is quite low, and I've reached limits like I never have before in my life. But things are on the up, and that's what counts.*Above is the view from our bedroom. Even this window provides more light than any of the windows in our old apartment. It's nice to have so much light. The week has rushed past - we went to see Eddie Vedder twice this week, once Monday night, on a whim because I found last minute tickets, and the second time Tuesday night, both shows at the United Palace up at 175th and Broadway. It might seem like a bigger hike than it actually was...one night, we took a 10-minute cab ride from 96th and 2nd (because the bus was taking forever to arrive so we bailed on it) and the next night we traveled straight from work, taking subways. The Monday night show, the one we hadn't planned to attend but did, was actually the better of the two. Eddie was with it, mastering every lyric he sang and every instrument he played. Our seats were pretty far back on the floor, but the theater is ornate and amazing and the sound as good. Tuesday was the night we had planned ahead to attend, and Eddie was a little drunk on wine, sometimes forgetting lyrics, but it still rocked. Wednesday morning I flew to Indianapolis for a 1-day training seminar, flying back the same evening. That was something I'd rather not re-live, for reasons I'd rather not say. And today is Thursday already. I made a pistachio pesto, the first dinner I've cooked in almost two weeks, and it was pretty good. I also made asparagus and Craig commented on how green our dinner was.*On the plane ride home yesterday, I flipped through the Atlantic Special Fiction Issue 2008. I found this story called "Nine" by Aryn Kyle (an author I do not know). It is really a beautiful and touching story, almost too good to just appear in an issue of the Atlantic. The main character is Tess, a girl who's about to turn 9. She's got more issues than a girl three times her age, but they're all inside her head. She thinks raw things and lies and feels belittled by moments. She's a pretty smart character for the fact that she's confused. Anyway, I was sitting next to two really artificial women while I read this story en route home, and I suppose that contributed to how much I could appreciate the delicate nature of the young Tess in the story. I'm rarely judgemental and I'm sure these two women were nice enough, but the glisten off of their fake tans and the glare off of their unnaturally shaped manicured nails had me feeling slighted and equally annoyed. I suppose we all seek something.*I'm hoping that this weekend is okay. We don't have plans, which lends for a good time to just curl up in a corner of the apartment and enjoy our rent's worth of it. We have some DVD's to watch, and I have some writing to do. Sharon is in Pennsylvania all next week so I have an extended period of time to get her something (after being so delinquent). But really, really, it's just about continuing on and making sure life doesn't one up me. Maybe I will mess with the Nikon. Maybe I will cook a thing or two.*