Lists, naps, and a month of living 'perfectly'

I wake up from dreaming of the Arizona desert and a professor and his wife I don’t actually know in real life. The phrase “sand frills” sticks in my mind, something I’ve invented in sleep: as in, the canons and mesas give way to sand frills. It almost works to describe the way the sand is funneled and scarred with gullies and rivulets, flash floods scraping rivers into dry mud and red rocks. I wake up with an ear ache, the pain sucking at my right ear like altitude.

I slip away from the others, still sleeping: my small boy with his arms flung side to side like the oars of a rowboat, a contented sleep smile staining his face rosy; and my husband who was feverish last night and who wears and orange t-shirt and twitches inadvertently. It is the last day of vacation and I wake up mid day from napping with the sun slanting through the slits of the wooden blinds, dust motes rising and twirling in the air.

Yesterday I napped too, alone with the cats. Both of them curled nose to tail on the flannel. When I joined them, the apricot one chirped a welcome to me. At night she follows me around the house as I turn off the lights, bank the fire, get ready for sleep. She meows plaintively then, wanting one thing: a pinch of cat nip that makes her whirr like a summer fan and fall to the floor like a dervish in a state of ecstasy.

Today I wake up at 2:37 p.m. dreaming of people I don’t know. For the longest time, or what feels like the longest time, I am convinced that I do actually know the man, who in my dream was a professor, we both were it seems. I try to pull my mind from the shallows of near sleep, where thoughts dart like the shadows of trout, illusive and just below the surface.

Gradually I stir, hoping that if I move, inhabit my body again, feel my fingers and toes, I’ll be able to place him and his wife, dark olive skin, but I’m only more confused and the pain from my ear creeps down my neck. When I put my hand up to my throat I find the glands on that side are swollen. Everything participating in the purposeful choreography of falling ill just as vacation is ending, of course.

When I climb from the bed I move the covers, I move my knees, and my ankles and the soles of my bare feet make contact with the wood floor. I can feel the grooves between the planks. The round circles where penny sized tabs of wood cover screw holes. For a minute I sit there at the edge of the bed with the dust motes circling my tangled hair like a halo and am stricken.

I think of all the screws. Thousands, maybe a million, although I can hardly imagine what a million screws would look like, each one made of dark metal, machined somewhere in a plant in Idaho or Tennessee or Mexico or China. I am astounded considering all the people who contributed to my floor in this way: the workers in protective goggles and gloves sorting and correcting package weights; the fork lift driver; those at the shipping yard and at the hardware store, and also the men who likely knelt a million times or more to place each screw, thankful to have an electric or battery operated screw driver.

The floor is old, and when we bought the house, the finish was almost black with age. It didn’t gleam, and by the windows in my studio, a lot of water damage. Someone left the windows open more than once during a summer rain. Now it gleams, sanded and finished twice over. Our sweat. Our bending knees. My feet make contact with the floor. I pull myself to standing. I pull on jeans. I pull on a white terry sweatshirt that I’ve just put through the wash with a few tablespoons of Chlorox.

In the dryer I added a Mrs. Myers Clean Day geranium scented dryer sheet. The smell made me happy. It spelled clean and not cloying, though not natural either. The house is clean now, at the end of vacation. My life feels in order. I’ve spent the week putting things in order: paints on the shelf in my studio, carmine and cobalt and cerulean. I’ve scheduled things: doctors appointments, dental check ups, hair cuts, meals with friends. I’ve crossed things off my list: updated accounts, passport papers, green peppers and Irish oats and oranges for squeezing. On the bag they say “Take home and give us a squeeze.” Like some sort of huggable small trolls nestled together there in the orange webbed bag.

I’m reading Don DeLillo's book White Noise, and am fascinated with the way he uses lists to tell the story. Lists spiraling and deepening, a little the way Tim O’Brian did in The Things They Carried. This month, March, is a month of lists. It’s a month I’ve decided to live contentiously, focusing on the small things like replying to emails regularly and packing my lunch for work the night before. I get so outside myself, tilting towards the big picture, towards the hungry heat of my passions, that I forget to be here much, and here has a way of getting crowded and overwhelming as a result.

In O Magazine, someone wrote an article about “A Month of Living Perfectly” and I laughed, because it was my idea, the very thing I said to DH. “What if we spend March living the way we always say we want to live? No waffling.”

He nodded over toast. He wasn’t really listening to me. It was the end of February and the snow had numbed his brain. It keeps falling, by the way, falling nearly nightly. Making the woods white and glittering and the driveway slick when it melts and then turns to ice in the dark. But now March is here, and I’m going ahead with my proposition, ready, set, go.

If you were to live “perfectly” for a month, what are the top five things you would do every day?

Create, live with abandon.

The snow is falling outside, making everything like a milky dream. The trees are flocked with white, and I can’t remember the scent of summer: cut grass, ripening blackberries, dust rising up from the dirt road; in the same way I can’t really remember what last year was like, so much uncertain, heartache like broken dishes gathered in a paper sack. I never imagined that I’d have to reach out and cut my fingers on the shards to grow in a marriage; in fact I never really pictured this life at all.

This small boy, this man, this house, these fields dappled blue and white with snow and shadows. How can you ever really imagine how your life will be? Dreams are so fickle, so rife with longing. It’s good to have them—and to send them on whispered breath out into the world like so much dandelion furze. But I’m grateful that the Universe has a bigger dream for me.

Grateful that in the year between then and now, we’ve come together again, pulled towards one another inevitably like the tiny magnets on the backs of Bean’s toy trains that hitche one to the next. Grateful the embering heat of the wood stove, the heat of his love, and the inches of powder that keeps falling out of the sky, making it possible, finally, for me to learn to ski.

Yesterday Bean spent the night at his grandparents for the first time ever. We went out for dinner with friends, sipping champagne and honeyed martinis in a restaurant with silver painted walls. Gold and white balloons bobbed from the backs of our chairs. Our voices carried certainly to the neighboring tables, our laughter rising up ruckus and often among forkfuls of roasted garlic, olives, flatbreads, crab cakes with micro greens, carpaccio, crème brule. Then we came home and were just us, in the soft flannel of our bed when the pale morning light pulled us from slumber. Just us, and the siren song of bare skin and warm shoulders calling for an embrace.

Then we made coffee, buttered raisin toast, and eggs, and talked about our resolutions for 2008.

Mine: Publish at least five pieces of writing. Get more organized (with everything from regular writing time, to planning what’s for dinner.) Kick some booty as an athlete: get to be better at climbing, yoga, running (maybe a triathlon?) and skiing. Grow a garden. Live with abandon.

Saved by a meme

I was tagged with a meme for 7 random things about me, and since it is Thursday night and I'm exhausted, but I'm stubbornly not quitting NaBloPoMo, a meme is all you get: * I'm a stomach sleeper.

* I feel guilty because I have never put photo albums together for either my wedding, or Bean’s first year.

* I have a weird, bordering on frenzied, dislike for any lettuce or leafy green that becomes black and slimy.

* I contributed to NPR for the first time this year, and felt very pleased with myself.

* I get nosebleeds in the winter time.

* I've been in bars, but I've never sat at the counter and ordered a drink or carried on a debaucheries conversation with a hot bartender.

* In high school and college I was a swimmer. In the past year I’ve been in a pool exactly once. This depresses me.

What are 7 random things about you?

Thankful

...I am thankful for this piece of land. For every return trip that brings me up the gravel drive, rounding the corner to see the house. We've found a beautiful metal compass-rose star that hangs between our garage doors, as if to say, "Here is home." I am thankful for the way the leaves still catch small eddies of late autumn wind, and rise up twirling into the blue sky, and for the meadows with the grass mown down where voles and foxes and mule deer leave their tracks.

…I am thankful for my small, “a little bit big” boy who every single day astounds me. He’s become sweeter, if that’s possible. More thoughtful. The other night, I sank into DH’s arms, sobbing with exhaustion and overwhelm. “Don’t cry mommy,” he said, and then put both hands on my face and tried to move my cheeks into a smile. Tenderly. Earnestly. And I smiled.

…I am thankful for my guy: broad shouldered, full of laughter, driven to make the best life possible for our family; and for the way he’s always game to take the leap with me—to plan for living in Europe in two summers time; or to put up with and support the certain crazy of my writing life. I am thankful for his topaz eyes, and for the fact that he could stop, when we were arguing and wrap me in his arms despite the sharp edged words I’d flung towards him that were hanging in the air.

…And also for my brilliant sisters; my girlfriends; the way my cat curls up to nap at my hip as I sit on the couch; the way the sun falls through our dining room windows; for our wood stove; for morning lattes, kisses, Project Runway, dark chocolate, Bean hugs, books, and you.

Five random things today

I want to write, but cannot make my fingers agree with me. Bullet points are easier. Five random things I did in the past 24 hours:

* Tried on almost every single shirt or sweater in my possession and found all to be lacking in one way or another. I hate that.

* Taught first graders about the two body parts of a spider (abdomen and cephalothorax)

* Cried in my husband’s arms in bed from sheer exhaustion and overwhelm (being there in those arms—the best thing that happened all day.)

* Tried to skip a page in Beatrix Potter’s Jemima Puddle Duck while reading to Bean, but got in trouble because he seems to know every freaking word. Of every book we own. Time to get new books, I think.

* Took a walk in the cold wearing a powder blue down jacket and woolen hat. It’s starting to feel almost wintry here.

What did you do today?

Tagged: 8 random things

The beautiful boho girl tagged me with this meme: 8 random things you don't already know about me:

• My first true crush (in fifth grade) was a boy who now plays in this band. We wrote letters all summer the year I moved away.

• I am obsessed with the “sticky note” widget feature on my computer.

• I cannot currently picture loving a second kid as much as I love Bean; cannot fathom my heart being big enough to contain this love, times two.

• People think I am both taller and older than I really am.

• If I were single and childless I’d be living in a funky little apartment somewhere with Salvation Army chairs painted wild colors and chipped china teacups. My bohemian side is somewhat subdued, what with all the toddler things around the house, and a man with contemporary good taste.

• I am currently obsessed with this Greek yogurt + honey.

• I am an INFJ.

• I could survive the rest of my life without coffee or wine, but not poems; without chocolate or television, but not music; without money or things, but not good friends.

I'm tagging: love squalor, la vie en rose , so the fish said, hula seventy, and rosa murillo

People who are tagged write their own blog post about their eight things and include these rules.

At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people (or as close to eight as you want!) to get tagged and list their names.

Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged and they should read your blog.

Bliss

Have I mentioned that I’m having a divine time? I sat for three hours and wrote this afternoon after receiving brilliant criticism on the piece I am working on. I went to the beach yesterday, with a picnic: spicy fried chicken, pot stickers, salad, grapefruit soda, and a coconut & chocolate chip cookie. Then I watched the sun set over the water. I heard Maxine Kumin read from her work, and oh, how my breath was lost somewhere as she read, like the flight of birds.

And I went to dinner with Pam and the class tonight. She is charismatic and analytical and forthright. She’s been in the Bronco’s locker room and interviewed Toni Morrison, and she can make a room of people laugh belly laughs repeatedly.

Here are a few things she's said so far this week that I really want to remember:

On why she writes: “Writing is the way I honor the physical world. I think of it as a kind of prayer.”

On craft: “Sink the story into the metaphor. The challenge is how to sidle up next to the big things without becoming lecturers and making total fools out of ourselves.”

“There is nothing worse than trying to say something. You’ll always fuck it up. Keep it concrete.”

“You don’t have to tell everything. Let the concrete specifics stand in for the general.”

You cannot communicate depth using emotion word. ”Just read your seventh grade journal to see that!”

On Revising: by the fourth draft, “take out the things you needed to say to know, but now they can be removed.”

On fiction versus nonfiction: “Everything I write comes out of my experience. I hardly imagine anything.”

Do you know how freeing that was for me to hear? Do you understand how those few sentences made lots of things possible for me with writing, that I hadn’t imagined possible?

On audience; “You must believe your reader is as smart as you are.”

Noticing colors, and a list

Tomorrow is my last day of school for the year! I'm so thrilled, I'll even go hobnob with my colleagues at the local watering hole, though that typically isn't my thing. I'm so ready for weeks on end of writing time and Bean time and garden time. I've been operating like a jigsaw puzzle, pieces tumbling about inside the cardboard box. I'm ready to fit things back together again.

Tonight a sunny cafe dinner with just Bean. Watching 'big rigs' and trucks drive by; slurping fresh tomato basil soup from a wide silver spoon. Then sharing an ice cream cone and watching him zip static-headed and grinning down the slide at the playground again and again.

Armloads of peonies. Such a heady, delicate scent. Pure decadance.

A stomach full of butterflies about the impending workshop; but also: a week of sleep and open beaches and new possibilities and time to write.

And I'm sorry I've become one of those bloggers--so irregular with my posts you barely want to stop by. I can hardly wait to come here regularly {I have a dozen GREAT posts all written in my head, I swear!} and share and rant and follow my whimsy.

Four paragraphs & four things beginning with "A"

A full day back at the classroom. They greet me with eager smiles and two-page weekend news letters in ever more confidant print. They use capitals and periods and I challenged them to write about what they felt, saw and said. One little boy wrote, I could feel the wind and I said to J, “Can you feel the wind?” and he said back to me, “Yes I can,” as we biked down the hill. Such sweeties they are, though they seek to wring every ounce of energy and attention from me. If they learned one thing this year, they learned to be kick-ass writers :)

A parent share tomorrow, to celebrate the kid’s final writing projects. Books they’ve planned from storyboard to final hard-cover hand sewn copy. Their smiles and their bright pictures and eccentric text placement is something I’ve been wanting to photograph for a while, so I’m bringing my camera! I miss mixing my life more: art and teaching and writing. I like when it overlaps.

At home, before dinner, we got the chicken coop floor framed out, Bean following after us with a hammer—using it with flawless form. The sun angled long, and for dinner we had flat bread pizza. It’s been the third night in a row Bean has gone to sleep super tired by 8, without much cajoling, and slept through the night in his bed until 6 in the morning, when he patters his way into our room. I cannot tell you how utterly thrilled I am about this. I don’t want to jinx it of course.

And a few more paragraphs tonight. Up to ten pages. The story seems to be fitting together in unexpected ways, as though all the jigsaw pieces are speckled with Rorschach prints. I’m just following along, seeing what I recognize and going with what feels right.

And four things I’m enjoying that start with A:

Azaleas blooming along the back wall of my house, unexpected. Antinori Vermentino wine: delish with sausages and crusty bread. Aching muscles from hard work. Animal, Vegitable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver

Thinking Blogger Awards--Meme & Happy Easter

Blue folds quietly around the house, like dye adhering gradually to the fragile white shells of eggs. Snow is falling, still, again, and it makes me sad. I’m longing for spring, longing for raw green, for delicate petals, for grass. I’m moody tonight, tired after a day of dying easter eggs, making tiki masala with friends for dinner, and finding out that my best friend is moving to freaking Sacramento. One of those all-out weekends, of laughter and over-extending. Hunting for brightly colored plastic ovals in the stubble of grass and snow in a friend's back yard; fighting with Bean about naps after too many jelly beans and too much excitement; and feeling out of synch with the calendar this year. Now I’m curled into the rumpled cushions of the couch, with the symphony of the dishwasher whirring up around me, and the cats pacing across warm floors.

But, instead of moping, I’ve been tagged (twice) with a cool meme. The Thinking Blogger Awards. My votes go to:

Sunday School Rebel--because her poems are THAT good, because she talks to god, and because I wish we lived next door.

Le Petit Hiboux--because she's written 20,000 words for a novel, and is pursuing the wild, illusive profession I'm terrified to take up: full time writer.

Rosa Murillo--because her found art pies are relics of pure inspiration, and the universe must be smiling because of all her beautiful gifts.

La Vie En Rose--because her contemplative poems and her exquisite photos and her generous spirit are always make me pause.

Running Mix

Bette Davis Eyes-- Kim CarnesSuddenly I See---KT Tunstall Sexual--Amber Deeper And Deeper---Madonna Erotica Above The Clouds ---Amber Back In My Life--Alice DeeJay Around The World--ATC Don't Tell Me---Madonna What You Waiting For----Gwen Stefani Take On Me---a-Ha Better Off Alone ---Alice DeeJay My Heart Goes Bang---Dead Or Alive Danger Zone---Kenny Loggins Call Me---Blondie Missing---Everything But The Girl Eye of the Tiger ----Suvivor Move With Me---Neneh Cherry

Back to the gym this week, after a week off feeling sickish. It's still mud season here, and still cold, but my sister is luring me westward for a half marathon this summer... and some tiathlons closer to home are looking better and better, especially since the wicked spinning class I took last week that reminded me of how much I love to ride.

Enjoy the mix, and yes, I know, most of it is totally 80's throwback music. But listen to it while you're running a 5k. It works, trust me.

Saturday list

* Croissants, fresh strawberries, vanilla yogurt, lattes. * A trip to the store for rain boots.

* Grocery shopping ("Bean drive OWN CAR," he says, earnestly. And so we push around those awful, cumbersome, rediculous plastic car/carts. He loves every minute.)

* Teething, and a struggle to go to sleep at nap time. Finally we went for a walk with Bean in the running stroller (think MUD on the roads) and he was asleep in less than a minute.

* A teeny-tiny circus, just down the road. (Such a long post coming on that tomorrow!)

* Lasange, garlic bread, wine and chocolate cake with friends while the kids chased the cats, and shared sippy cups.

* Making the perfect running mix. (Leave a comment if you want the titles! I'm into goofy, fast paced, 80s inspired stuff when I run. Anything to keep my feet moving!)

* And delight, of all delights: my iPod and book were found and returned! Thanks for all the positive comments on that one. I seriously think you helped balance the universe in my favor. Now, just keep your good thoughts dancing my way re: grad school. They say I won't necessarily be notivied until mid April.

More up down

So I'm going with the co-sleeping-ish arrangement for now. Which is what we've been doing, and it works fine except for when he's ansy and can't lie still and insists on holding my cheek pressed against his cheek, and howling "Mama TURN OVER" when I roll the other way. But. So. Well. We'll keep trying because it seems that's the only thing we can do, seeing as we adore the pants of him as it is. Other things:

I had a great hair day today. I never have good hair days, and today, all sorts of perfect luscious shine and bounce and complements.

It's 40 degrees out right now, at night, which is almost unbelievable, as it hasn't been this warm (yes, WARM) in oh, five months.

We had tacos for dinner. I love tacos. I grew up in California. Mexican food always makes me smile.

And... PLUMS are back in stores around here, which means somewhere, they're in season right now.

But:

I left my ipod and my beloved Eat Love Pray book at the gym tonight, parked on top of one of the lockers, and when I called a few hours later, they didn't find it. I'm going to assume the positive--that it was placed somewhere for safekeeping and that I'll get it back tomorrow. But if not, who would steal a book? An ipod, well, at least it has value. But my book? All underlined and happily dog-eared, and not half read?

The good & the not so much

Feeling tiredness crowd me like breathy people on a commuter train, I write a few scattered sentences and prepare for bed. The house is humming: the heat turning on, DH playing guitar, the low moan of the wind pulling around the northern corner. I feel snug tonight. Impatient still, with no answer yet, but content because I ran four miles today, watching my lanky legs in the mirror to work on form. God, I look like a gorilla on stilts. I throw my left foot out at a funny angle, it seems; which explains why I always have a splotch of mud on my right calf after every run. I kick myself. What’s left to write after writing that? But the running felt good. I kept a nice 9:30 mile pace and felt my lungs expanding easily. At the end I was grinning, inadvertently. Other things I’m thrilled about tonight:

* The gorgeous Sam of Sunday School Rebel is having a BOY! Clearly, I’m partial here.

* I’ve started reading Eat, Pray, Love and was pulled right in. I love books that do that to you. Her writing has a conversational tone, tender and honest, like she’s talking to you over tea.

* DH gave me a new laptop yesterday. There it was on the counter when I came home, in it’s snug little box. It’s so pretty and sleek and utterly functional that I can hardly contain my glee. And it doesn’t have a fubar every five seconds like my old one was apt to do (the fan sounded like a jet plane, and the power adapter port only worked every OTHER second. GAH!)

Things I am not thrilled about:

* The fact that still, every night, Bean has been waking up and wailing and insisting on going to bed in “mommy and daddy’s bed” or being rocked for eons. It’s wearing me thin. I want him to sleep through the night, happily, in his own room. Here are the things I know: he’s definitely cutting his last incisor right now, and his nose is all stuffed up. But really—does that warrant this? I’d love advice… (Know, we can’t for various reasons bring ourselves to be of the “cry it out” camp, including among other more important reasons, that his cries make it impossible to sleep. And also, how can you NOT go, when he calls, “Mama, Daddy, where ARE you? Need HELP. Need a HUG.”)

Do I just ride this out and tell everyone that raccoon eyes are the new thing? Or is there some strategy I’m overlooking?

Things I'm excited about, and a small piece of art

* New plants: a tall potted palm for the bedroom, and a delicate fern for downstairs by the kitchen sink.

* Running every day this week except for Monday, and sleeping better at night because of it.

* Starting a half-marathon training program--mid May-ish is the date for several possible runs. Loving the focus a tangible goal provides.

* The earlier daylight savings time this year (this Sunday!) and making plans to spend time in the sun.

* Having a piece accepted for publication in a magazine you can buy at Barnes & Noble. (WHOOhoo!)

Delight

Today I was going through my notebooks and I found this page from last spring. It got me to thinking about the small things that make me smile, right now, no matter what. These are good things to think of. Little things, that pull me into the present, into an immediate experience of pleasure. Here's my list for today. What is yours?

Small things I'm grateful for.

A flock of clouds, their underbellies pink and gold, just before sunset.

Running hard at the gym, just over 8 minute miles.

Doing 25 push ups in a row.

Rearranging furniture in my classroom, so the sun slants just so in the morning and the picture books are easier to browse through.

Getting a note from a kid saying, "Thanks for being my teacher, I love you"

Passing the two shaggy horses on our road, and seeing their breath rise up in the cold air.

Bean saying yes now instead of just no.

Reading short stories (because when is there time for long ones, lately?)

Mysterious birthday plans for the weekend.

Painting small pictures every day.

Unrelated bits & pieces

* I drove back from the ophthalmologist (a random unidentifiable pain & redness in my eyes prompted the visit) tonight, and it was the most disorienting and sweaty palmed trip ever. Headlights in dilated eyes: not fun. Now I have blurry vision and the feeling of vertigo whenever I look at anything up close. But look at me, I’m still blogging. Wheee! Oh, and despite the redness and/or agony, I apparently have perfect eyes. Some good news. I like that.

* I’ve been enjoying creating small pieces of art nearly every day. I’m going with the idea of altering a book. This particular book was found in the basement at my inlaws house, and is called The Love Affair, which offers bits of advice such as the following:

The average man decidedly shrinks from what he calls a ‘brainy’ or ‘highbrow’ woman, and if she is in the unfortunate position of having to secure his attention, no man of her own type being available, she must conceal her intellectuality instead of trying to use it as a blandishment, which is a mistake very frequently made.

Better off as an altered book, don’t you think? Or perhaps this is my problem. I use both my brainy and highbrowness as blandishment. Don’t you? It’s fun to paint blithely over the text, watching how certain words or bits of text come to the fore while others become completely submerged.

* I’ve decided that I’m going to spend several months taking a picture of DH every day. A sort of practice in observation. I want to see what I notice. I’ve never made him the focus of any creative/artistic endeavor and want to spend some time with the images I take and see where it goes. See what I learn, about him. So much of him I don’t really know. Isn’t this almost always the way it is with the people you love? You think you know them, but really, you only know these small slivers, like looking up at a new moon and thinking that tiny sickle is all of it.

* The cold snap that has swept across the country and left orange groves in California frozen, and people without power in Oklahoma has hit here with a vengeance. -15 degrees out, and our pipes in the upstairs bathroom froze. Huh? Yeah, you read that right. Tomorrow will be day three without a shower. Really. Whimper.

Things that are good:

* Sucking on a maple lollypop while doing secretive artsy things. * Watching the neighbor kids put on a Christmas play in the barn with sheep and donkeys, and all the grown ups singing carols.

* Sipping hot cider and talking to neighbors while Bean raced around with a delicate waffle cookie clenched tightly in both hands.

* The row of metal snowflake lights hanging in our kitchen.

* The fact that today was the last day of school, and that tomorrow I will get to sleep in tomorrow with DH under the luxury of a double down comforter (so snug!)

*Plans for delivering cookies to our neighbors with Bean in the red wagon, tomorrow.

And we're done

NaNoBloPoMo is over, and I'm so ecstatic that I can go back to being frivolous and lazy and completely irresponsible about posting. I've also decided that because it became my posting art form this month I'll leave you with a list of things I hope to accomplish in the next few weeks. To make me very, very happy (or utterly jealous because you're all sick overachievers) post your lists in the comments. 1) I think I need to go to blog rehab now, to recover from all my crappy, inconsequential posts. To that end, I'm craving returning to my notebook for inspiration. I want to make quick sketches & line drawings, and collages this month...and I want very much to return to the art of writing in complete paragraphs. Yes, I want that very much.

2) I want to send out holiday cards before December 23 when I usually do. I have a crush on getting mail, but I'm so bad at sending anything these days. It doesn't help that my mail box is at the end of our very long driveway, and the only times I drive past it are either when I'm balancing a cup of coffee and a toasted bagle on my way to work, or when I'm clinging to the wheel with both hands, out of utter exhaustion, on my way home each day. I could walk, you might think, but that generally involves a little Bean who is given to pretending he is incapable of walking at the most inconvenient times (like when I'm holding a large armful of mail and really have to pee.) But the truth is, I just suck at sending mail. Envelopes sit on my counter unstamped. Letters get lost in the car en route to the post office. I can't be trusted to send anything on time, except, possibly (and rarely) things of critical importance.

3) When Bean pulled my shirt up and his entire baby hand disappeared into the soft expanse of my stomach, the reality finally hit today. I will not survive the holidays without becoming a truck, if I don't get back into a routine of regular exercise. As it stands, I have already become (according to Bean) a particularly pleasant lump of dough.

4) To that end, I went on a run tonight with DH. At night. In the dark. By flashlight. And I want to beg all of you to try it. It is fantastic to run in the dark, without all the visual distractions, and the thudding rush of your blood rising up like a song in your ears. Also, when we got we gave the flashlight to Bean, and he had the BEST TIME EVER running around the dark yard pointing it at things. Remember flashlight tag? So fun.

5) Lastly, I'd like to finish the mammoth stack of books I now have by my bedside. Like a workout habit, I need to reinstate a few moments in my day meant just for reading. I miss the dreamy other-worldliness of reading for hours, and the way it almost immediatly has a positive affect on my writing, like a I.V. of brilliance to the arm.

What do you want to do before the solstice arrives?