dreams

Maira Kalman's Opinion in the New York Times dreams of Americans standing on the right side of (food) justice. Everyone who cares about food and the planet and our health as a species should read it. Especially Kristin. Kristin must read it... To clean, fresh, fair food. Salute.

liberty

Today is the first day of freedom. I woke at 9 - having been utterly unaffected by C clanking around, making breakfast, talking to Sita, washing dishes, showering and dressing. I didn't even hear the door shut. I was dead to the world - dreaming a mosiac of movies I've seen, incorrect faces put to significant names, MBA formulas, latent fears and desires, and other limbic burps.

I am drinking coffee now... I might go for a run later... There is nothing that I have to do.

It is waking up in a land of Technicolor after enduring black and white tornado-ravaged Kansas. Not only has it felt like a century since there was nothing I had to do, but recently - the last three weeks or so - there has been way too much to have to do.

Today is quiet inside. Today is slow. Today I start to feel myself again.

romance

Romance is really pretty deranged when you think about it. I mean, what is it in humans that makes them crave drama and uncertainty and passionate disfunctionality? A woman says she is miserable when she is waiting to see if he'll call, but part of her loves it. Because the heart is pounding and the world is tipping and it all feels so deliciously desperate.

But think about this: Has anyone ever said, "Gee, life would be more fulfilling if my friendships and family relationships were just a tad more fucked up. If they were just a splash less communicative and a splash more volatile."

Yet for some unknown and unquantifiable reason, we want a splash of volatility in our love lives. We want chase scenes and vampires and wind-swept Cliffs of Dover. We want period costumes and horses and final heart-wrenching reunions with bad guys on the way. We want the one we're with (sometimes) and we want a few dozen others who scratch certain itchy places on our thumpin' bumpin' egos.

If all this is left over from mating rituals on the savannah, we have a long way to go as a species -- and we should admit it.