words to you on my deathbed

I will not speak
of songs unsung
of books unread,
unwritten.
I will not speak
of wishes cast,
of travels far,
lovers unbidden.
Instead I'll say
rejoice today -
no matter that
my hour's ended.
The next one's yours
(you should not mourn)
and I hope you
make it splendid.

obliviousness

Two vignettes from après work last night:

1) At Nordstrom Rack:
Checker: "I can help you, Ma'am..."
Me: "Thank you! How are you doing?"
Checker: (blinks in surprise) "Uh, fine, thanks! Aren't you nice?"
Me: (laughs) "Well, it's the end of the day, and it's only Tuesday, so it can't be that bad yet...."
Checker: "You'd be surprised. But I'm so glad I got to help you...what a nice end to a really horrible day."
Me: (distraught mew) "Oh, how sad...that's pretty depressing if my asking how you're doing is the highlight of your day...."

2) At Starbucks:
Young woman in front of me in the customer line comes up to the counter. She sets down two large frothy Starbucks drinks.
Young woman: "Uh, you need to remake these. There's too much caramel in them."
Barista: "Um, but you asked for extra caramel."
Young woman: "Yeah, but there's too much caramel."
Barista: (pregnant pause)
Young woman: (insouciant smirk)
Barista: "Uh, okay...."
Whole line behind me: (chorus of groans)

...and the dustbunnies shall inherit the earth....

Whoa, Nelly. I've had a slow-simmering desire to overhaul the ol' apartment and each weekend I've made a special effort to pitch...something...anything. I definitely fall into the category of "packrat who wishes she were a minimalist" and though I resolve in my head to throw out anything that I know I've not looked at in over a year (of which there is MUCH crammed into my 500-or-so-square-footed place), without fail I, er, fail to manage it. Instead, I resolutely look at every single piece of paper, every gee-gaw or whatsitfer before chucking it, or placing it in the Pile of Shame, which then needs to be sorted into some kind of storage receptacle where it will languish until my next pitching fit eight years or so hence.

My latest inspiration is to get rid of my desk, which I have never really used as a desk and is instead a laundry organizer on the desktop, a piles-of-paper-crap supporter in the hutch, and is a sweater shelf atop the hutch -- home to at least 20 sweaters, piled on high in a princess-and-the-pea-worthy fashion, and may even contain a moth or two. I have found a suitably overachieving but cheap replacement which is actually meant for clothes: a high dresser from IKEA that I wouldn't mind using for other sorts of storage should I ever manage to leave my 500-or-so-square-footed apartment and move into a sprawling suburban condo or somesuch dream/nightmare.

In my effort to unearth the gently-used desk from its paper and cashmere trappings so that I might pretty it up for Craigslist, I have discovered something most unsettling: my bedroom is inhabited by dustbunnies. I do clean, mind you, and I have a rather large air filter running at all times in that room to keep the kitty litter dust under control and to serve as white noise to drown out the thundering footsteps of my neighbors above (who seem to find it great fun to leap in and out of bed at 2 in the morning) . So I was rather upset to find a dustbunny infestation. Without doubt my allergist would likely be upset on my behalf, too (he who convinced me I need to add a dehumidifier to my bedroom inhabitants...anyone else want to move in, too?

time flies when you're having fun

Today's gloomy weather has dissolved into the blueness of a perfect Friday evening, and I'm still here in lab trying to order my thoughts for the coming week. What looms above all these thoughts, though, is the dread I feel for the potential disaster that awaits me on Sunday:

a surprise party for my mother's 60th birthday that I've been organizing for a couple of months now

which could either be:
a) a complete success, and surrounded by her wonderful friends, causes my mother to "reboot" her perspective
b) a total fiasco, reinforcing her negative outlook

please please please let it be "a".