Yesterday I finally finished Andra’s painting. It’s darker than the original, but I like the effect. The man’s eyes on the left look dull and almost flat. They half-way scared me, so I put the canvas behind some plants on my book shelf. Now all I can see is his top hat. Much better.
I also started reading “The Things They Carried” because it was beckoning to me from my book stack and because Tim O’Brien went to Mac and I miss Mac. What a heck of a book/memoir/historical fiction piece. I almost gobbled up the whole thing in a night, but stopped myself so I have something to look forward to today. The third (fourth?) chapter particularly got to me with its lakes and not-so-easy life decisions.
My beautiful white orchid just bloomed its four flowers and I couldn’t be more content. A whole year of babying and watering and Romanian-spitting on it. Adoro. Maybe it was Buddha’s vibes from the window that set it free.
I’m not sure why I started this blog and I’m not sure how public I want it. Part of me still hates virtual reality, but I think I’m growing to accept my post-human half as time speeds along. I thought about what I would write last night after some sleep-less tossing and turning and while I don’t think it was close to this, this’ll do just fine, too.