tuckova

like a zombie advertisement

I was explaining the suffix -er and how it's a comparative, and then thought it best to mention how the suffix can also mean "one who" since a teacher is obviously not "more teach". Then I thought about the suffix -est and the suffix -ist and started on a riff about how when -ist means "the one who" it is a one who maybe does a superlative job or makes superlative money. A typist is obviously more professional than a typer. A chemist makes more than... uh. And then I was in a chemistry lab and I hadn't done the prep work for the experiment. And then I woke up.

Dear brain, how can you entertain me with such varied things on a Saturday morning and yet forget for a full half-hour that I drank beet juice Sunday night before bed? I do not like my Monday morning to feature panic. That is okay brain I like you anyway.

a few clowns short

In this act, you are the one who doesn't get hit. They throw all kinds of shit at you and the trick is that you knew where they were going. You'd be so pretty if, they say, and the knife lands a millimeter away. You never used to, they say, and that hits below the belt but it's still just a shade off. Four knives, five if you count the one, and every one of them is short of the target, because you were the target and you stood so still; you were always ready.

In the next act, you ride on the backs of lions, or horses in a pinch. It's always glamorous.

And now you conjure. In this world, you create empty spaces where people put their secret wishes and then you fill the emptiness. Flowers, a scarf, a rabbit: the thing that is missing. You return what you stole at the beginning. Or better you give back what they didn't know they lost, and they act like you did them a favor. It is not a surprise given your skills of prestidigitation that you would would always wind up with your own hands empty. You flourish.

And now the crystal ball. There will be a beautiful person, your other half, you say, and they look past your plain face and transparent tricks to this ideal. Elusive. You fill the space until the one they want is there. They trust you, believe you, they could sit at your table til dawn looking at the props you use to tell them what's obvious. When everything you said comes true they say they always knew it anyway. Shove some paper at you, and they are so gone they were never there, and later they swear they were never at the circus.

Then there's the trapeze. So many things to be balanced. And throughout, there are the moments where you stop and wait until they clap, and they clap until their arms ache, though what you love most is the moment before the first applause. And sometimes you do it knowing there will be no applause. That they will wander back into the dark and not even know what a show they saw, thinking that this is just how their lives go.

And then there is a tent, or some space, and there is something to take off the greasepaint, and then you go to bed. And tomorrow is another day.

Unconnected bits: ew, ah, hm, snork.

Yes thank you I am perfectly aware that one is supposed to separate the act from the person and say "that thing that you did is disgusting" and not "you are disgusting" but you know what? YOU pull a handful of weeks-old bread crumbs and mealworms from your twelve-year-old's backpack and you tell me owning your words is at the top of your list.

I found awesome waterproof mascara that becomes waterproof upon contact with skin. This means that I can weep it off with the same amazing speed that I weep off all other make-up, and then I get these puddles under my eyes that will not come off without elbow grease, special pads, under-eye make-up remover, and scrubbing.

I spent nearly an hour re-reading old love letters today. I was looking for a specific one but I fell down a hole in which I had shouted "I love you" over and over again and 20 years later it was still echoing around. Very weird, that young woman who was very much me, with the same humor and the same way of unfolding thoughts, and also so... naked with her feelings.

The cat snores. That's unusual, right?

I've got three elephants.

1. One thing I'm not writing about because I've said all I can say.
2. One thing I'm not writing about because I feel like it makes me angrier to talk about it.
3. One thing I'm not writing about because I don't know what I think, and I tend to not discuss feelings until I've made up my mind.

The result of this being that every time I sit down to write, these things are uppermost in my head. Yay.

Squire left for "school in nature" this morning; Friar and I fought last night over who got to make his sandwich for the bus because we totally aren't going to miss him at all.

It is raining and cold again today. The petunias are falling apart.

I do not suggest reading about Harry Harlow's experiments on rhesus monkeys as it opens a very unpleasant door in the brain and continues opening more, and yet you do not learn much that you didn't already know.I suggest that you skip ahead in the thought and just hug some people that you like. I  would hug you right now, if I could.