everything is grey.

today is not a cubicle day. at all. i knew it when i first woke up, as i lay under blankets with muffled thunder in the background. i could smell sandy's coffee wafting from downstairs. she had probably left for work already.

my alarm annoyed me more than usual.

beep beep beep be-snooze.

nine more minutes of dreaming.
*i'm in california. is nichole there in this dream? am i trying to get someplace where she is? but all these accounts of mine keep interrupting my mission?*

beep beep be-snooze.
nine more minutes.

*yes, it's california. i remember this hotel room; i stayed in it for a week last month. but why are kim and jim's dogs here? and why are they on the 11th floor balcony? oh, because they wanted to go out. (of course.)*

beep beep beep beep...
snooze.

nine minutes. staring at ceiling. it's so grey in here. the cosy kind of dark. the thunder is quiet, like it's trying not to wake me up. the rain on my windowpane is the lulling, sleepy kind. i sigh.

beep beep beep... oh for crying out loud, fine! i'm up!
(alarm off.)

it's one o'clock now. etty and i took shelter from the imminent afternoon storm at starbucks an hour ago. i treated her to a latte and banana loaf and a comfy brown chair. we sat, curled up, under the thunder and still-gentle rain. tom waits, natalie merchant, norah jones, and ella fitzgerald all stopped by to serenade us. it was a nice, though distracted hour.

but damn, only an hour. i reluctantly drove back to work. patty griffin's 'top of the world' was our song for the two mile trek. i could see lightning (simply shifts of light behind hills and clouds) and desperately wished to be watching from the bongo java porch, instead of my car.

but. we'll take the provision, the moments, however we can get them.

(and now, back to our cubicle world, already in progress...)

the indescribable wow.

thanks, sco, for giving me the link to heather snow's blog. these, friends, are words worth reading, digesting. they're quite real.

(many thanks, heather.)

horizons: expanded

guess what i did? i wrote a review of blackalicious for relevant. annie, the hip-hop reviewer? apparently so these days. you can read it HERE.

can't escape it.

so. as my previous blog-entry suggested, i've been spending my lunch hours outdoors lately. i have just over three weeks left at a job i have spent the (thus far) whole of my twenties in. four years may be a drop in the bucket, but when held against the 24 of which i've been alive, the time, energy, and hope i've sown into this place are quite substantial, i think. and so, this transition is hard. everyday, i have to say new goodbyes, tell the story of my leaving to a whole new set of people who are shocked and have so many questions. and it's draining.

lunch. lunch is the hour when i have needed to step away. fill up. and it's been under the spruce trees at the park with etty hillesum lately. ("wow, you are taking your time with that book," sparrow says.) i've taken etty in a few pages at a time, because her words are devastating and true and heavy and freeing and real. sometimes the real is too rich, like that piece of cheesecake i always think i can finish, but never really can...

(savoring.)

etty and i have sat still together, and i swear i hear her breathing sometimes. she takes her time. inhale. exhale. (i'm trying too.)

today, it rained.
etty and i could not sit under the spruce tree.
so, i decided to go home for my ireland-budget sanctioned peanut butter sandwich. and etty came too. i tried to outdrive the rain; we were right on the edge of it, but it kept catching up. pouring. no rain. pouring. no rain.
etty stayed in the car, i'm ashamed to admit. because we've got cable, and a dating story was on. so. i watched.

still on empty too.

brentwood.

from my afternoon journal:
nothing is natural here. it is my lunch hour. as i left the parking lot a few minutes ago, i watched the overweight women--with their curly perms and matching black dresses and white, white walking shoes--walk in rhythm, like they do every day. blacktop to blacktop. they walk. experiencing a bit of outdoors. i wonder if they lose their bearings ever, walking amongst homogenous buildings. there's no telling what corporation you'll run into around this neck of the woods.

and here, under the shade of spruce trees--a little bit of green between housing developments--the ground is littered with dasani water bottles. yet the cicadas sing, serenading the abandoned sand volleyball courts and me and the landrovers driving by. and here is the august wind. and here am i. nothing is exempt from the presence of God, is it?

today was the greatest

sometimes, for friendship, you drive. and sometimes, for connection, you hydroplane through kentucky storms. and the distance and the risk are worth it: you're awake, and bright eyes across the table affirm this, over tea and sprite.

and in this shared, hoped-for, frightening awakeness, she is teaching me the weight of this question: what do you need?

friends: what do you need?