Been a while since I did one of these: … not that I’m opposed to them in principle.
They just serve as trivial distraction, or list of objects and attitudes that glide around (but ultimately elude) me. (From Regret Nothing, Disavow When Needed.)
I see. . . Two empty mugs (Millennium Mint tea and hot cocoa with whipped cream, an empty carryout box of chocolate-chip cookies, two cups of water and copies of Honey, Vibe, Adbusters, Harper’s, the New Yorker and Forbes). I need. . . to do my state taxes, to twist my hair, haul a bunch of books to donate to the library. I find. . . myself needing to write, file and spend time doing personal stuff. I want. . . To be a mentor, especially after reading this week’s New Yorker. I have. . . a feeling of gratitude for the presence of a lot of people in my life. I love. . . My partner, wife, lover, best friend, economic advisor and cultural critic. I miss. . . My friends, when I don’t spend time with them. I fear. . . boredom. I feel. . . like I got enough sleep last night for the first time in about a week of trying. I hear . . . People around me in the cafe putting on jackets and grabbing keys, ready to leave. I smell. . . Coffee, tea, the clean clothes I’m wearing, the paper of the magazines I’ve flipped through. I crave. . . ownership of a second Web site that handles some of the other projects that have flitted through my head. I wonder. . . if it’s possible to do the “simplicity” thing without feeling just plain simple? I regret. . . my latest article for Salon.
When was the last time you. . .
Smiled? When the cafe manager saw me sitting in the corner of the cafe minding my business, and hollered out my name so everyone in line turned to see me. Laughed? Ten or fifteen minutes ago. Cried? About five days ago. It shouldn’t count, ’cause it was more of a welling-up. I remembered my honeymoon almost a year ago: the drive north from Weed, Calif., and into southern Oregon, and the music we listened to and the scenery we saw. Bought something? A refill on tea. Danced? Probably at the company party in December. Were sarcastic? Had to have been recently; probably a post or two ago, knowing me. Kissed someone? She-who-must-be-obeyed, at the Rockridge Deli. Talked to an ex? A couple of months ago outside my local cafe. Watched your favorite movie? Man, it’s been a while. Had a nightmare? Woke up from one this morning, a three-parter: taking a hour-long standardized test administered by my editors, w/o markup sheet or question booklet (a crazy thing, ’cause I grew up loving tests like that); visiting with a much-feared English teacher from high school (I never took his class); and arguing with a ex-co-worker whose rejoinder trailed off into my awakening from sleep.
Do You. . .
Smoke? No. Do drugs? No. Have sex? Yes. Sleep with stuffed animals? Only when seduced. (That’s a joke.) Live in the moment? Less often than I’d prefer. Have a boyfriend/girlfriend? No. Have a dream that keeps coming back? Not anymore. Play an instrument? Keys, guitar, bass, harmonica, assorted percussion. Believe there is life on other planets? Yes. Remember your first love? Yes. Still love him/her? No. Read the newspaper? Yes. Have any gay or lesbian friends? Yes. Believe in miracles? Yes, but calling them that is hard. Believe it’s possible to remain faithful forever? Yes. Consider yourself tolerant of others? No, not as much as I could be. Consider love a mistake? Never. Like the taste of alcohol? No, with exceptions: Guinness Stout, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and maybe a Johannesburg Riesling. Have a favorite candy? Probably peppermints. Believe in Astrology? Yes (not daily ‘scopes: birth charts are interesting as diagrams of personality traits and character quirks — read mine and see!) Believe in magic? No. Believe in G-d? Yes. Pray? Yes. Go to church? No. Have any secrets? That’s classified. Have any pets? No. A dog’s in my future, though. Talk to strangers who instant message you? If they behave. Wear hats? Yes. Have any piercings? No. Mom told me I had enough holes in my head. Have any tattoos? No. Hate yourself? Does sporadic self-loathing count? Have an obsession? A few. Collect anything? Yes. *sticks tongues out* Have a best friend? Yes. Wish on stars? No. Like your handwriting? Pretty happy with it. Have any bad habits? Yes. Care about looks? Mine? Yes, especially changes related to aging and general health. Others? Not as concerned, really. Believe in witches? Believe that they exist? No. Wiccans, sure. Believe in Satan? Believe that he exists? No. Believe in ghosts? Not as ghosts, per se. Believe in Santa? No. Believe in the Easter Bunny? No. Believe in the Tooth Fairy? No. Have a second family? ‘Sides in-laws? Trust others easily? No. Like noise? Noise is always interesting and occasionally attractive. But I prefer signal. Take walks in the rain? Out of necessity, not desire. Kiss with your eyes closed? Please. I don’t kiss and tell. Sing in the shower? Yes. Oldies, but not too loud. Don’t want to treat the neighbor with my rendition of Lou Rawls’ “Groovy People” too often, yunno. Own handcuffs? No. Have any scars? Yes.