I'll be damned if a cracked fingertip isn't one of the most biting vexations this side of wherever. Damn those keyboard keys requiring this particular finger. Every time I have to use this digit it feels like someone is jabbing me with an ice pick. And how rude is that? Here I am with an open door of sorts into a wild party of touchy nerves. There are something like 50 gazillion nerves crammed into one single fingertip. And since I tend to love that about fingertips, I will stop now.

*     *     *  

I like to think of strange jobs that people have. Or strange jobs that no one has. Earlier I wondered about the people who are hired to give names to various nail polish colours. Are they hired for this specific purpose, or did they come up with the actual colour too? I don't know. All I know is that I believe I would be really good at the job of naming the different colours. Somewhere there are nail polish colours sporting the wrong moniker—I am certain of it. I am writing down these treasures as they come to me. "Hoopskirt & Ham Sandwich Pink" and "Pammi's Neck Mole Brown Twinkle" are just going to have to wait until someone hires me.

*     *     *

January 12, 2006

Today I am wondering what would be sweeter than sugared honey? To be content in this moment and each moment after. Even if I never make it to those places on my map.

*     *     *

January 10, 2006

Why the heck would anyone ever buy a bookmark? Don't get me wrong, I have purchased several in my life. They're either cute or beautiful or whatever. But if you need them to inspire you or put a smile on your face, you might want to consider the fact that you're expecting way too much of your bookmark. Their purpose is to save your place. Playing cards make great bookmarks, and you can get a whole pack some places for about a dollar. Fifty-two ready-to-save-your-place bookmarks for a buck. You know, I probably need a nap.

*     *     *

January 5, 2006

My friend arrived with a tiny package of Hershey's Kisses yesterday.

"They're salty. I don't think we should eat them," she said as she tipped the bag into my hand, dispensing two of those allegedly salty treats.

I had to try one. And then two. They were indeed salty, and very much unlike the sweet kiss to which I have grown accustomed. This was like a nice salty kiss from a surfer or a sailor. Or someone you don't know, whose car is stranded on Pacific Coast Highway and whose lips have collected microscopic bits of salt from the sea air. What I want to know is why the hell am I kissing some salty stranger?

*     *     *

January 2, 2006

"How are you?" has become a rhetorical question. Do you mean it when you ask that question? If not, why do you ask at all? Why not just say "I like a nice desk chair, by golly." It would be as effective, and really it would be a lovely change from all of the unanswered or insincere how are yous floating about. 

I want to know how you are when I ask. Just so you know.

*     *     *

December 29, 2005

I want to hear everything you have to say. If I am walking into another room and you say something that I cannot make out, I come back to collect those words and put them with the others I keep. They mean something to me, because you mean something to me. Please know that.

*     *     *

December 28, 2005

Maybe there will be more happy moments if I can lose this longing. What does it mean to me? Only everything, it seems. Only everything. How to make it mean less? I haven't a clue. The longing reminds me that I don't have that for which I long. What happens when you get what you want?

*     *     *

December 18, 2005

Do you think it's possible to successfully flirt with yourself? I'm going to give it a try. I wonder if I'll score? I have no idea. I'll play hard to get and see what happens.

*     *     *

December 13, 2005

I like being different. There are times I lament about not fitting in here or there, but I'm pretty sure that's not my thing. Fitting in can be like blending in, where you almost disappear. I have no interest in disappearing. I want to know who I am and what I think and feel about everything. I want to stand out, even when you have no idea what you've stumbled upon and look at me as though I'm from another planet.

*     *     *

December 10, 2005

She was always up for a game of Yahtzee, any time of day. We would play for dimes. Her dimes. I've never carried much change. I am still back there in 1997, seated at her table like all the years before, sipping that glorious iced tea she's known for, hoping she gets five Yahtzees in a row. Her smile is a lighthouse.

*     *     *

December 5, 2005

Lately I have been noticing my knack for stating the obvious. I have been noticing how other people do this as well. You'll be standing outside in the freezing-cold weather, everyone is tightly embracing their own torso trying to keep warm, you've just seen someone's frozen nipple roll by with some dead leaves, and yet you will say out loud, "Man, it's cold out here." It's pretty enjoyable once you start paying attention to it.

You don't need someone to tell you the chainsaw is dangerous, but believe me, someone will. (Probably me.)

*     *     *

November 30, 2005

The next time you're blindly following some social rule you find kind of annoying, ask yourself, "What the hell am I doing?" It's enlightening.

*     *     *

November 26, 2005

I feel uncomfortable choosing zucchinis at the market. I am just certain some guys are lurking, watching me make my phallic vegetable selection. Yet I quite enjoy fondling the melons and don't care who knows it. The world, it seems, is filled with produce-aisle perverts. And I am one of them. Go figure.

*     *     *

November 24, 2005