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Well, here I am. - Jubal Early, floating in space

I keep saying that lately. It's kind of an expression of attempted equanimity, in the face of several things that are really not so very okay.

Thing One: I have a hernia. I might have two. It needs surgery.

Thing Two: While I'm under the knife (terrible expression) I'm getting another major thing done to relieve an ongoing problem. It's not the most delightful thing ever.

Thing Three: Because of Things 1 & 2, I shall be grounded and trapped and furthermore miserably prevented from riding my bikes or doing any other thing that makes life worth living for 6 weeks.

On the other hand, I'm really very strong these days, and I can probably find a way through it all. I've been making a list of thing I'm allowed to do after surgery that will also make life worth living. Suggestions welcome.

Ooh, must add "Walk with Nikon" to the list. I never do that anymore, and I do so love it.

Anyway, there are cherry blossoms out these days, very pink. You should go look at them.

I won't talk about how long it's been, because I hate going to blogs and reading those kinds of disclaimers. I post when I feel like it; I don't when I don't. This isn't a job. And now that I have a job, it's nice to be able to say that.

My life has changed so radically that I hardly know how to express it. I went from standing on a nasty precipice for an extended length of time (not jumping, mind you, or even quite falling, but getting dizzy and sad from looking at the drop) to suddenly being tossed a lifeline. But it happened so fast that I've hardly had time to adjust.

A few weeks later I woke up after a particularly bad night (45 minutes of sleep is not enough for a growing girl) and realized I needed to move right now. So in that dogged, resourceful way I get when I'm desperate (which, I begin to realize, is quite a useful skill), I began looking for and almost immediately found a better apartment. Same amount of space, nicer building, quieter neighborhood, less money.

Since then it's been the usual cavalcade of completely inconvenient and scary health problems that seem to accompany any big change, and trying to juggle the overwhelming demands of new job, packing up all my possessions (which, for an adult person with a lot of books and a lot of hobbies, is not a small job), dealing with pesky freelance hangers-on, and so on.

It's a lot.

The only part of it that really bothers me is the health crap, because, well, it's crappy. I may need more surgery - two kinds, in fact - and in the meantime, it hurts to do most anything. And of course, the one thing I really shouldn't be doing is heavy lifting. Yeah.

Everybody keeps telling me - oh, don't complain, because it's only another couple of weeks and then you'll be in your new place, where everything will be all bright and shiny. Well, my new place promises to be lots better, certainly, and I expect to be a lot happier there. But bright and shiny and perfect and solving all the world's problems? No. It's just a nice apartment.

I'm still going to be broken and in pain, and needing surgery, and I'll still get lonely at night and wonder whether that swelling is anything to worry about, or whether I've just gotten fat in those four days off the bike.

And I'll have weeks and weeks more of lifting, and shifting, and drilling and hanging, and putting together of new dressers, and the cat waking me up at 4 am because she's convinced herself she's starving to death and needs to be fed right that moment.

In other words, life goes on. And I'm glad it does, because if it doesn't have to be perfect then it's something I can live in. I think there'll be space for me to stretch out and relax, and take my time getting used to the fact that I'm not going to die of starvation because I'm too poor to buy chicken for soup.

Eventually (read: now would be great, or maybe next week) I'll meet a really unusual and preferably very handsome fellow who will find me irresistible and charming and compellingly fiery, and then things will get very interesting.

For the first time in a very long time, I'm not just whistling in the dark about that. I feel it coming.

I was talking to a friend tonight, and he was in the middle of writing a blog post about why he continues to blog. And he was finding it tough going. Which, I pointed out, was ironic.

I know that here I ebb and flow, as do most bloggers who've been at it for a while.

Side note: If you're new here, you may not know that I started this here thing in about 2003, and that there was a technical glitch that resulted in several years' worth of posts being - not quite lost, but only recoverable by hand (and if you don't think that's ironic, for an online medium, well, I can't teach you anything about irony).

Anyway. Ebb, flow, etc. Yes.

The thing about a blog that's about nothing but whatever is on my mind at the moment, is that there's a certain amount of room for ebb and flow. I haven't promised you a rose garden, so when I start growing cherry trees or bugger off to Firenze for six weeks without telling anyone except the gelato salesmen (warning! stock up on stracciatella!), well, it's basically okay.

Nobody's terribly disappointed; they just figure I'm off having a nap or something. And eventually I come back and write a little list of things that hangs together pretty much like a homemade Halloween costume. It resembles an idea, but not the original one I had.

My friend's blog, on the other hand, has a specific purpose, and as such, he ain't always in the mood to write about that purpose, so sometimes it's hard to keep going. If it were a person, it'd be that little sweaty kid on the couch who's suffering from ennui and pretending it's a fever so he can get out of school.

My blog is more of a delinquent who knows damn well he's too smart for school and thus feels no compunction about cutting class anytime he damn well pleases.

Anyway. Stracciatella notwithstanding, here we are. I never promised you a rose garden, and you ain't getting one.

What I can give you is: yes, of course, a list. Well, no maybe not. Maybe just some random impressions in a freeform fashion.

It is cold out - 54F/12C.
The cars passing by sound like rushing water.
I'm riding over a lot of acorns these days.
I painted my toenails a couple of days ago when I was bored and not especially sober. I hadn't picked out the color (it was bought for me by a friend) and didn't think I'd like it (dark-blood red), but I'm starting to think it looks kind of good on me. My feet are very pale, and it looks if a messy vampire had been licking my toes.
I don't have a date, and I don't have a date, and I don't have a date. I had two last week, and I suddenly get this feeling there's going to be a lull. As much as I dislike that, on one level, on another I wonder if I might want it that way. I am feeling like one of those creatures who curls up when touched, an isopod.
I'm not sure I want anybody touching my soft underbelly again for a while.
Have you noticed that this is in fact a list of sorts? Maybe I should go back and number them.
Nah.
It gets so late so quickly, do you ever notice that?
I'm knitting. But what I really want to be doing is climbing trees.

I'm a very capable person. I do most everything for myself, by myself, nearly all the time, and I prefer it that way. But lately, it's been brought home to me that there are some things I just can't do.

1. I can't sit still and feel crappy. I have to escape.
2. I can't cry in front of people. With one exception: you know who you are, and I try not to abuse the privilege.
3. I can't let people in. Especially men. Not beyond a certain point. I can't. Don't ask me to. I mean, sure, ask me to. Present yourself in your handsome plumage with everything I want in a guy, right there, delicious and gorgeous. I'll want to let you in, and I'll try, and then I will have to flee. Immediately. Very hard.

4. See? I even need some space after writing about it.

5. I can't live without my little cat. Ok, I could, in theory. I did before I had her, and I know that she won't live forever, but she better not desert me now. No way. Stay here, Kitwich. I love you. Even when you do silly things like poop on the floor (by accident, I am sure). It's all okay. I will shrug or yell depending on the day, but you're still a good girl in my book.
6. I can't not bicycle. Don't ask me.
7. I can't ride the subway. ICK.
8. I can't knit continental.
9. I can't plan ahead, not definitely. I can suggest that I might be up for something, but don't think I'm gonna get nailed down to it. Because I won't. I will call you and make up an excuse, or it will be something I really have to do, and you won't know which.
10. I can't focus, and I can't work, and I can't live without trees. And I really, really can't sleep lately.

I smelled burning leaves tonight, and made a second hot chocolate when I got home. Last night it was windy, and there were crinkled leaves swirling in tight curves around my head. A bat flew formation with me for a while. It's the first stirrings of fall, and I find that I'm delighted to see/hear/smell/feel it. I want apples. I want new perfumes. I want more of those tall socks I buy at American Apparel, even though they're so expensive for what they are.

I want to make an excursion, soon, when my ankle's ready for the traffic, to Chinatown, to pump up my stores of tea. I'm thinking Jasmine.

I want to buy this movie, and this one.

I want to find a way to get out of town for a while, to be in a forest, to look up at the leaves and listen.

I want to find a man who makes me feel the way my spring-summer lover does, but who wants more of me, and of whom I can handle wanting more, myself. I think it's time, or nearly.

I want this yarn. Isn't it the loveliest color? I'm knitting a simple little rolled-edge hat, to get in the mood. And it only just occurred to me that my new hairstyle is the perfect thing for hats. I tried one on yesterday and nearly fell into the proverbial pool looking at my reflection.

Hello fall.

Blog angst:

1. Would you forgive me for a pictureless post?
2. Whenever I log into Movable Type and it tells me my last post was x-date instead of x-days ago, I feel like it's been long enough that I "owe" you a post.
3. What about if I have nothing to say?
4. Or nothing over 140 characters to say?
5. Insert tune to "Video killed the Radio Stars," but for video substitute Twitter and for Radio Stars substitute this blog. Or all blogs, everywhere.
6. Will this affect my ability to write books?
6-sub1: Will they be 250 pages of one-liners?
7. If I tell you about how I sprained my ankle, you will have already read it on Twitter. (backwards reference to 5, so maybe this is properly 5-sub1, albeit out of order)
8. I can't tell you about last night, other than to say I'd like to do it all over again, maybe with different music, just for variety.
9. That new show "Rubicon" is not nearly as smart as it thinks it is. It's overwritten. If it were a Twitter feed, it would be the same couple of lines, over and over again. Overexplanation is the death of wit.
10. Who said that? I did.
11. I know, I know - it sounds like Wilde, but it isn't.

My ankle hurts. No number necessary. It's a recurring theme.

Sitting here waiting for the thunder to come. Well, we'd settle for the rain.

The cat has been lying on the floor looking like a wrung-out dishtowel. Or a flat noodle. She seems to be under the impression that striving for two-dimensionality will cool her off.

I gave her ice cubes. Not interested. I tried to introduce her to the wonders of the icepack. She was vaguely frightened.

Myself I'm so dehydrated that my brain isn't working well enough to remember to buy the Gatorade that sent me to the grocery store in the first place. I'd get it at the bodega, but I spent my very last cash pennies on ice cream in town. I meant to go look for a new bikini (Old Navy's having a sale, and the bottoms of my old one are too big for me even before they get wet), but I forgot.

I have no money; it's all credit cards. Sigh. Let's not even go there.

I ran into my sometimes-playmate randomly on the street yesterday, and nearly got run over because I wasn't paying attention to traffic. I was distracted by the proximity of the handsomeness. He smells so good. Cardinal rule #1: Don't look at the boys. It will get you smushed by large objects with four wheels.

Today I found myself staring at a skateboarder who was gliding by in the opposite direction and had to remind myself, verbally. DON'T LOOK AT THE BOYS! You are on a big street with rush-hour traffic and four firetrucks blocking the entire right lane, and there's a little black Accord with out-of-state plates diving out in front of you and nearly ramming itself into the bus that is also in front of you, and now you have to maneuver around four lanes of mess with oncoming traffic coming at you and the bus and the out-of-stater, plus firetrucks. DO NOT LOOK AT THE BOYS.

Yeah, right. I think I need to move apts soon. Maybe I can find one where there's a third tap in the kitchen, marked "Gatorade."

It was a beach day, and I brought my camera and yet took no pics. I never even pulled it out of my pannier. Why?

Because my eyes were closed and I had a hat over my face. Because I was watching my friend play in the water. Because I was there to relax, not to gather blog fodder.

Because I was hoping to find a new seashell to replace the one that broke (twice) in my necklace last night.

We'd both had terrible weeks, and we hadn't seen each other in a while. She's healing from a somewhat serious injury (she's okay; it's just a little scary) and hasn't been riding much. I'm healing from a deep well of stress at work and have been riding a lot, but not with people.

We just needed to ride, and sit in sand, and listen to water and watch it move, and foam, and froth, and fade. The gulls overhead, a tern here and there - black head red beak - waving grasses. A lot of poison ivy. French fries (I didn't eat them, but I ate a heckuva lot of cake later on).

We rode home, we ate dinner, we went out for beer. We sat outside in a crowded bar, but it was friendly, and we were in good moods, finally, after all this time.

I tried to write a post yesterday, but my server was down. Then I tried to tweet tonight, but the World Cup had apparently broken the living daylights out of Twitter (it's still limping a bit).

All I was gonna do was write you a little list of stray thoughts as they occurred to me. I suppose I could still do that.

My mileage has increased, and with it my appetite. I can no longer manage on 5 meals a day. Think I'm kidding? Spend a day with me. And bring your wallet.

I have: a) a tan that ends mid-thigh, and b) little callouses on my palm below my second and third fingers.

The cat has a new trick whereby she climbs into my lap, flops herself onto my torso (about 60% of which real estate she takes up), and lolls her head into my chest, while gazing soulfully into my eyes. What is she, a frickin' Harlequin romance novel?

I have taken to riding to a beach nearly every weekend, just to get away from the human populace. It is soothing. And then I ride to a honky tonk beach, to be amused by the human populace. I'd tell you part of a conversation my friends and I overheard at the latter last weekend, but it is unprintable. So was her outfit.

My baby sister turned 40 this year, and a couple of days ago a young man from the Internet asked me if I'd consider dating a guy in his mid-20s. Given that a man of that exact age had just left my bed, I had to answer in the affirmative. I suppose that sounds like bragging.

It's occurred to me recently that - until now - I'd never actually let myself consider what I want from men. So I gave that some thought. I don't have an exact answer, but I have some ideas about what I don't want, and that is a start.

I've started to think of myself as a bachelor. I've started to think that being single by choice is not the same as being celibate. It's been an interesting week.

PS. The birds are singing and that was my last lightbulb.

I took a lot of photos this weekend, with one thing and another. They'll likely be popping up in bits over the next few days. I haven't been posting much because I just don't have that much that I feel like sharing. I'm busy with work. I'm adjusting to the probable end of an affair with someone I rather liked. I was very angry for a few weeks.

I'm feeling a little better. I'm trying to see being asked out by online people as a good thing, with mixed results.

I don't think any of them are cute enough. I never do, with online people. Maybe I just think the Internet is an ugly place.

I've never been a fan of computer art. I prefer the feel and smell and texture of real-world things.

I like the smell of linseed oil. I like the smell of male sweat (on the right guys). I like getting my legs dirty. I picked up a shell on the beach and it had a hole in it, and I am looking for the right string to wear it.

My cat makes a triangle shape when she sleeps in this pillow, and it's funny because she has so many triangles in her face and head to begin with. I wonder if she likes Euclid. She does seem to enjoy watching astronomy on TV. We were learning about neutrinos and gamma rays. "Gamma rays, Kitwich! Gamma rays." She looked interested.

Some days you don't even have time for a quickie, and this whole week has been like that. But I thought I ought to catch you up on a few items.

a) The hitch is unhitched.
b) I believe I have never had quite so much fun in my life.
c) That goes for work, too.
d) It rained and rained last night. Sounded like a giant was peeing in the street all night long.
e) My new favorite object is my 4gb flashdrive, which cost me all of $14 and is cherry red, to boot.
f) Miz Fury calls flashdrive file transfer the "sneakernet." Isn't that a great term?
g) Have I mentioned that I really, really like having a beautiful boy in my bed as often as possible? Oh lordy lordy lordy.

I'm gonna keep this brief and random because a) my ass hurts, b) my knee hurts, and c) there is compelling scifi television looming.

random item #1 - everyone here is talking about how beautiful it is out, and I have to say, I hardly notice the difference. It seems to make more difference to me that there are more people whom I have to dodge and avoid and ding the bell at, and this makes my rides a lot less pleasurable, despite (or just next to) the fact that it's warm enough to ride around with uncovered knees.

ri#2: I am poised on the cusp of being ready for a boyfriend, and I hate that. The cusp feeling. Not-quite-yet, but so almost that I'm getting frustrated by it.

ri#3: you know it's spring when all the cute boys are out, and they've broken up with their girlfriends, and we race around telling dirty jokes. Hey, it's my idiom.

ri#4: both my kitten and my eyeballs get very high maintenance in spring. Yowling, clingyness, and dry eyes.

ri#5: a big shout out to my darling girl Special J. It was lovely to see you.

ri#6: In the classic freelance nightmare scenario, I went from having not nearly enough to do to having 423 projects competing for my attention. Most of which are work to try and get more work, but at least things are moving.

ri#7: sadly, ri#6 means that I am really lacking in sleep.

ri#8: I am thirsty and I wish I had a dishes fairy.

8 minutes until Star Trek 8 minutes until Star Trek 8 minutes until Star Trek 7 minutes until Star Trek.

I was out riding with Da Boys tonight, and mentioned my recent 3rd-worst-date-ever, and they wanted to know why. What made it the 3rd-worst? (for one, there was his disdain for TNG. I mean, c'mon, it's Jean-Luc frickin' Picard.) And what was the all-time worst? And why on earth had I gone on a date that night instead of riding laps with them?

One of them (the very cutest one) said when he'd gotten my text about it being just a first date, he'd really wanted to text back, saying If it's just a first date, blow it off. Ride with us instead.

Dudes, I so should have.

So tonight when I got the LAPS TONIGHT text, there was no question. And the fact that I got to spend most of the night riding formation right next to the very cutest one didn't hurt matters. I mean, it's just riding, but oh the lovely scenery. And I don't mean the woods and starry sky, though there were those, too.

Shit, 3 minutes until Star Trek.

Okay, okay, okay. I'm doing that thing again where I start writing a post, get distracted before I finish, and it never goes up. So I swear that tonight, whatever happens, I will post whatever comes of this. Kitwich may set the house on fire (she's been playing with matches), and I will still post photos of burning cinders for you.

I might as well; there's shit on TV.

Just to be on the safe side, I think I'd better resort to list format. Because, you know, that is the best way to present a random series of thoughts that aren't likely to lead anywhere except yawnsville.

Okay, so.

1. I watched the Oscars last night, and as always it was about the dresses. And as usual, I spent my time mentally redressing them in what they ought to have worn instead of what their apparently hallucinating stylists put them in. I can just hear those stylists, between snorts of cocaine laced with peyote, in Edna Mode's voice: "But you look FABulous dahling. No, you must believe me. It is chic."

2. My hair is growing at an astonishingly slow rate, now that I've been trying to grow it into a different shape, and I'm on the point of racing into the salon and begging my darling gay stylist (dahling) to shear it all off into its usual form. Somebody pass the peyote-laced barrette.

3. Hmmn, I'm hungry.

4. I'd planned to take advantage of the not-snowing, not-frigid weather to ride to my favorite bike-accessible beach this weekend but blew my wad on Saturday, sprinting about town, and hadn't the legs for a 40-miler on Sunday. Alas.

5. I've been knitting as if it's going out of style - which, given that spring is almost upon us, it basically is. For those who haven't been reading very long (or don't bother remembering such trivia), I lose the knitting muse completely every summer. Some years I make a flimsy gesture in the neighborhood of a bamboo bikini top or something, but it never comes to anything.

6. I am dying for a new nose stud, but to say that I am too broke to afford the one I want doesn't even begin to cover it.

7. Still hungry, and damn I wish my hair would just grow itself into the desired length and shape, pronto!

8. Kissed a boy on the way home, and no, I'm not going to give you further details. It was just a kiss. Some days that's exactly right.

9. Found myself out in a very photogenic neighborhood yesterday just at the right hour when the sun is slanting low and golden, pulled over, dug in my bag, and realized...I'd left the camera at home. Damn. There was good graffiti, too.

10. I had a funny dream about looking through an exotic wardrobe for an outfit to dance in, and all I could find that I wanted to try on were hats. They were marvelous hats.

Wow, that was a mess.

For those of you who didn't notice, the blog was down for about 10 days due to a minor catastrophe at the hardware level. It's all fixed now, and there doesn't seem to be anything missing, and anyway, it's just a blog, not somebody's lifeblood or my novel or anything.

But still, I missed it.

Which kind of surprised me since I've been finding it hard to blog, and I've been posting more intermittently than I did for the first - oh - 6 years of this thing. (Yes, I know the archives don't go back that far; Boywich has the early years saved somewhere safe-ish, and one day he'll get around to revamping this place and adding in all those files, but that has to be done manually and it's a big job, and he's a busy boy)

All of which is to say, hey, sorry girlwich was a blank white page for 10 days. I had things I wanted to say, too - things which would not have fit into 140 characters and so did not appear in the twitter stream. And while I don't remember those would-be essays, I have a minor amount of faith that if there were important ideas in there, they will percolate through my consciousness and reappear.

For now, what I will give you is a random series of thoughts (as opposed to the elegant triumph of organization that's the rule in blogland?).

It snowed again. Fuck. 20 inches. The roads are shite, as they say in Ireland, where it rarely snows at all.

I rode my rollers in the hallway tonight, for a scant fifteen minutes. It's hard riding rollers, and it's only about the third or fourth time I've ever done it.

I also walked, clad in waterproof garments and a certain amount goose down (bad vegan!) and several knitted items, to a pal's house to watch Carl Sagan tell me about Mars. I love Carl Sagan. We're on a first-name basis. I call him Carl and try to remind myself that: a) he was married, and b) he's no longer with us (so sad!). Such a dreamboat, that Carl. Shut up, I'm in earnest.

I am knitting the most brilliant sweater ever devised by mankind (forgive me; I've been thinking in hyperbole all day - watching Carl will do that to you), but I have reached a point of confusion. It's a hazard of seat-of-the-pants design. Yes, I'm calling myself a designer. No, I'm not proposing to make a career of it. But almost every successful piece of knitting I've ever done had its origins in a little drawing on an envelope. That's how my brain works. I'm creative and I don't follow directions very well.

During the last big snow (what, like a week ago?) I happened to walk by a mosque during evening prayer, and the chanting was being piped into the street through a loudspeaker. I stood under the streetlight for several minutes looking up at the falling snow and listening to that haunting melody.

This time, I walked past the mosque again but there was no music, and I was sad.

I have recently come to the conclusion that I am funny and rather brilliant and a mostly delightful companion, and I feel that I deserve an equally delightful boyfriend, and I am somewhat perplexed as to why one hasn't materialized yet. Maybe it's the funny hats.

When you ride the rollers and it is going well, you reach this state where you are floating in mid-air, scarcely aware that you're pedaling at all. It's quite remarkable, but I wish my glasses wouldn't fog up just at that moment. It kind of kills the mood.

Oh my dears, you know what happens when you have a brilliant blog post rambling around in your head while you're folding the laundry, and you think about stopping to write it down, but then you think, oh I'll remember, and anyway, if I leave this pile of laundry unguarded, on top of the bed, the cat will nest in it, and it'll not be so much clean as downy-fresh but full of cat hair.

And then you get it all put away, and all the can't-be-dried stuff hung out (of which there is a considerable amount, me being a cyclist, and American Apparel being given to not edge-finishing their short little skirts so that they shrink to the size of post-it notes if you dry them), you can't for the life of you remember the Big Blog Idea (much less where this sentence was going before that tremendous parenthetical interruption).

All I know is it had something to do with longing, which, you know, is rather a theme of mine.

When I die, my gravestone might just as well say, "Here lies Lizbon. She longed." Though I'd be happier if it said "Here flies Lizbon."

Anyway. The time has come for a new male playmate to enter my life. The only trouble is, no one seems to have alerted the men to this. And then I make the mistake of reading things like this, with all its depressing stats, and its even more depressing (and often barely literate) comments.

But at least Target is offering the Waiting for Your Bangs to Grow Out Collection. So there's that. Plenty of useful implements to tame my growing-out mop.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood. - Mr. Rogers

Everybody's friendly when it snows. The people shoveling, the lone guy on a mountain bike (I take my hat off to you, brother), the parents out playing with their kids, whose tiny legs barely crest the top of the snowfall.

I go out with my camera (pocketcam, because it fits in the pocket of my coat) and walk, a big red hat on my head and a big smile on my face. I think I must have been smiling, because everyone I passed said hi to me as if I'd been smiling at them.

"Lemme know if you need help getting out." - one shoveling guy to another shoveling guy.

"Hey, take my picture!" - friendly man with a very large snowblower, to me.

I've always walked in snowstorms. It's a habit and an instinct, and by now, a kind of ritual. It snows and I walk in it. I was sick the last time it snowed, and I walked anyway.

I once walked in a bonafide blizzard, where the snow was coming down so fast, and the wind swirling so hard that I had to turn back at the end of my street because I was uncertain as to whether I'd make it home if I went farther.

Today was milder. Only about 10 inches. I waited till the wind had calmed down and then out I went.

I bounced around in the drifts and snapped pictures and thought about how it would be to ride tomorrow in the half-plowed streets. I watched the plows go by, chains on their giant tires. I watched SUV drivers, timid, uncertain how to get started. Then the car service drivers, flashing by too fast. The buses, stolid and unconcerned, neither too fast nor too slow.

Two boys walked by carrying snowboards. I wanted to snap their picture but they were gone. Lots of small children in brightly colored snowsuits, their moms looking surprised by the snow, a little worried that the kids were getting tired from walking thigh-deep.

One little boy flung himself face first into it, laughing. I knew just how he felt.
I leapt and jogged through it, backed into big drifts to take pictures.

I wore Gore Tex pants and hiking boots, nice big ski gloves. I was comfortable. Snow is something I understand.

It was just weird to see it in the city, where everything is ash-grey and blocky-looking. Suddenly my country life invaded, and everything wore icing.

Yep, it's one of those weeks where I keep making drafts and more drafts, sitting next to my (you guessed it) drafty window, where the cat bravely offers to keep me company on the adjacent big fluffy pillow.

I guess when you have fur, drafts don't scare you.

And then I get distracted by the fact that my lunch is ready, or my second dinner, or I need another cup of coffee, or this chair hurts my butt, or the outdoors exists, and so on, and I don't post the thing, because really I am not so sure about that draft, and there it languishes next to the three other drafts I wrote this week, and the hundred-and-something other ones I wrote that will never see the light of -er- cathrode ray tubing.

Yes, I know, hardly anyone has CRT monitors anymore. Shut up and let me have my literary devices, willya?

Anyway. At the risk of injecting yet another unpublished draft into my Folder of Oblivion, I am going to set forth a list, in hopes that my beloved list format will put me at ease about publishing the damn thing.

1. They have promised us 8 inches of snow, and so far all we've got are flurries.
2. I rode around with snow tires and a fender all ready like a badass boy scout, and I hardly even got flaked on.
3. I had a little talk with my hairdresser, and we agreed that growing my hair out is an awesome idea. Then he cut it so that the right bits will grow out in (it is hoped) a non-driving-me-crazy sort of way. It was a big step. I've had the same haircut for years.

4. See? I need a whole extra space between paragraphs after that.
5. Lemon ice cream. Lemon ice cream, I tell you!
6. I am 1.5 hats through my 3 hats of gift knitting that must be accomplished before I get to cast on for the Incredibly Cool Sweater Design I drew on an envelope.
7. I deleted my online profile and then when I went to resurrect it, thinking, what if Mr. Fabulous is looking for me there? the site first wouldn't let me log in, telling me I must've typed in the wrong username (I know my own name, you bastards), and then when I finally got in through a backdoor, it chided me for having disabled the account. "You will now not be able to disable your account again for a period of...one week." Whoop-de-fracking-doo.
8. I haven't written about boys in a while, I know. It might be because I haven't met anyone of interest, or anyone who seems interested in me. And there's been less strife in the former-boys department. I seem to be able to be around the ex-lovers without feeling sad or needing to drag them home by the hair.
9. In point of fact, I had dinner with summerboy this evening and had a pretty darn good time, laughing and joking around. I was only slightly annoyed at him for still looking cute. Don't boys know they should immediately go to pot after you cease to be involved with them? Really, it would be just great if he'd get horribly ugly. How about some gooseturd-colored contact lenses? Try, really try, to gain a hundred pounds (he's skinny, so it would take a hundred). Take up smoking! That's an instant turn-off. No? Oh well, it was fun hanging with you anyway, cutie.
10. Squirrel!

* In cycling, drafting means following another cyclist very closely to take advantage of the reduction in wind drag.

I went shopping. Yes, it's pouring cold rain out. Yes, the bridge was full of broken beer bottles (I have some choice words for whoever put them there). Yes, it's Sunday and I was up late last night.

But I had a quest.

And the weird thing was, the shopping kinda cheered me up. Which wouldn't be weird to someone else, but given my general hatred of all things shopping-related and my lack of patriotic consumerist joy in overspending, it was a bit surprising.

Maybe it was the colors of what I bought. There comes a point in winter when I long to be bathed in a molten pool of Crayola. Well, minus the burns from all that hot wax, but you know what I mean.

The city has its charms - checking out what color they've lit the Empire State as you go over the bridge (it's currently green-and-white). The mind-blowing profusion of fresh flowers lined up outside practically any deli in Manhattan. The charm of sitting down at your favorite haunts, where they automatically bring your ice cream in the long dish because they know you don't like the scoops melting into each other.

The particular delight of rolling up to a bar with a bicycle posse, and seeing other friends roll up, and ye shall know them by their bicycles and the particular brands of helmets they wear and how they look in winter gear or summer gear. "Oh, you haven't met him before? Well, let me introduce you." (then a few minutes later...) "Yes, he does look like George Clooney. He likes younger women; I'm too old for him. You should totally go for it!"

Where was I? Oh yes, the need for color in midwinter. Well, I guess there are various forms of color - literal and metaphorical, maybe even metaphysical.

I needed all of those, and I think I got some. Along with a pretty good dose of silliness. ("Oh crap, there is that guy who always hits on me. I will hang out with my ex-lover who will run interference. Shit, this guy just will not take a hint. Maybe he will think I'm going home with my ex-lover if we walk out together. Oh but wait, then the guy I have a crush on will think that, too. Damn.")

Oh well, it's all good.

Some days the contents of my head are extra-jumbled, and this has been a week of those sorts of days. I've tried to blog a few times and end up realizing that I am Just So Not in the Mood that the results languish in the ever-growing drafts pile. Good thing it's an electronic pile, because I'm not sure my apt has room for any more piles.

I took out my toaster to be recycled on the curb. Either the trash collectors will pick it up (it's mostly metal) or some random person will walk by, like the look of it, and take it, a phenomenon we call urban recycling. Sadly, if it's the latter, when they get it home and plug it in and try to make toast with it, they will find out it gives off a disturbing burnt-wire smell, which is why I suddenly had the urge to reclaim the counter space it was taking up.

Anyway. One less Thing I don't need. If I really, really, really want toast, there is always the oven.

I haven't had a microwave in years, and darlings, I don't want one.

What I do want is a more structurally sound bedframe. If a bed makes horrible rickety noises every time the 11-pound cat jumps onto it, it's time to start thinking about a visit to IKEA. I just would like to earn some money first.

What else don't I want? Let's see. I don't want a fancy coffeemaker. I am happy - make that very happy - with my little silver espresso pot. It sits on the stove, it makes an appealing noise when it's finished. I get to screw parts together (which is vaguely satisfying). I wash it and put it away for next time. Perfect little ritual.

What else do I want? A really pretty handpainted vegan yarn that has some wool-like memory and warmth, but is not produced from animal products. I am not sure it exists, but I have several non-animal-fiber-wearing friends for whom I need to or would like to knit. One of whom is allergic to acrylic. Any suggestions? Also, it would be great if it wasn't too costly.

What else don't I want? flat tires, insomnia, pain, road dangers, financial stress, any other kind of stress, fungi, tummy aches, influenzas or other illnesses, kittens to get left in plastic bags on the street, anything bad to happen to me or anyone I love.

What else do I want? Daily chocolate, love from friends and family and beautiful boys who are nice and funny, bicycles that are in good shape and fit me well, income from an enjoyable source, to get into school, to make art, to open a restaurant that just sells homemade soup and bread (need to talk to that friend of mine who has similar ambitions), for my darling little cat to live very healthily to a very ripe old age with me, my mommy.

Happy 2010, gang. Let's see what we can put together for ourselves, eh?