Saturday, October 25, 2008

If you call yourself a maverick

It's been all insanity all the time all week. When the New Yorker arrives every Friday, delivered by the nice man in the funny little retrofitted mail jeep, it just makes my world right. The content is mostly all online, but I never peek. I love waiting for it, pulling it from the slot, holding the glossiness of it in my hands -- a real live thing, not just filaments and computer code -- and hiding out with it. Sometimes in my room with the door locked. Sometimes nonchalantly in the living room, letting the chaos happen around my while I crawl into the cocoon in my mind and read. Sometimes in my little garden house (a fancy kit shed that's mine, all mine -- ha!) I always read the cartoons first. Then the poetry. Shouts & Murmurs. Fiction. All the rest. David Sedaris made me smile.

The Naked Campaign opera art made me smile too.


Neve Black said...

I've missed you this week. I was ready to send an e-mail and or a search party. :-)

I figurd you've simply been tied up all week (lucky girl). I've found everyone to be crazy busy these days.

Love the special, space you've created for yourself. Men have "Man Rooms" and women sometimes only get a bathtub with a lock on the door - a garden shack is fabulous. Good for you.

Neve Black said...

Your e-mail message last night really made my whole day. It was just what I needed. Thank you for such lovely and thoughtful words.

Kirsten Monroe said...

Aw -- truly? I'm so glad. Sunshine to you.