Lately I’ve been telling people we’re all going to hell in a hand basket just to hear them tell me they don’t think so.
Sometimes it takes a lot of effort to seem normal. (But my friend Cornelia once told me that everyone feels that way.)
We got a $70 check in the mail from the U.S. Treasury the other day and didn’t feel stimulated at all, nor did we stimulate anything with it.
My father always said things would look better in the morning, and they usually do.
(Turns out my father was right about pretty much everything.)
When I went for my annual exam I asked my doctor if she could give me a prescription for some cannabis to help me relax. She said no and suggested I give up coffee.
I am 57 and still drawn to the clothes in the juniors department. I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon.
I always go back into my house at least once to make sure I have turned off the stove, even when I know darned well I did.
I think poets are very important people.
My hands have big bulging veins, and I like that about myself. Maybe it’s some kind of a reverse conceit -- working class hands.
Although my illusions are fading, I still believe I will learn to dance a little, speak bare bones Italian, and see the Northern Lights someday. But I probably won’t ever swim.
I occasionally drink milk straight from the carton and I pick the java chips out of the java chip ice cream. There. I’ve said it. And I know I have long been under suspicion.
I believe that everyone has something interesting to tell me. I am that annoying middle-aged woman who will chat with the bank teller, the post office clerk, the guy on line in front of me, pretty much anyone willing to talk. Basically I like to get a sense of the events leading up to these convergences.
Last week I ventured into Sephora and got a free sample of an anti-aging product that promised to "reduce wrinkles and visibly smooth trouble spots for instant lifting results similar to physician-administered injectables". I looked exactly the same after applying it.
When it comes to feeling young again, the right music does it for me. Sometimes a bit of rock and roll from days of old can make me deliriously happy and I start to think everything may turn out okay after all. Sometimes Bach or Beethoven is required.
I do think we’ve got some hard times ahead but we’re going to feel a little better with someone new in the White House. (And I don’t mean McCain.)
I believe a bicycle is the most perfect of technologies.
I have a hard time with routines, but I am fanatic about flossing and I end each day with a yoga stretch.
I love my husband, but yes, I will always have a slight crush on Jackson Browne.
I always do the unpleasant stuff first and get it over with.
I honestly believe that my life is part of a far greater saga; I feel connected to the journeys of my ancestors and in a sense to all of history. Many years ago a therapist told me that my grandfather’s life had nothing to do with mine. I never went back after that.
If you’re feeling down, I think you need to go through the motions and lie to yourself until the real thing kicks in. It usually works.