It is the type of Sunday that scares Spring back into its hiding place. But I can pretend that, in my little apartment, I've allowed Spring to take refuge in secret under my floorboards. We spent the day together, curled up with guinea pigs and eating Easter bread. I told stories of Pittsburgh and its army of robots that come out of the concrete at night.
For the 7th day of the 7th month, show us 7 of something - OR - something lucky.
Paper Cranes are notorious good luck charms, but opals are associated with misfortune. That doesn't change the fact that I like opals, however. The charm is black stone with raw opal stuck within it. I even lucked out with some flecks of rare red opal.
I wear this necklace every day, but I can't say that it has changed my luck at all.
Show us something you can't explain.
I don't try to remember all my unborn ideas, photographs, and knitting projects. And what of the unborn bumblebees, brick walls, ceramic jars, and pocketwatches? Why is there a statue to commemorate other conglomerations of atoms that never bounded successfully into molecules that could fend for themselves?
In honor of Independence Day, show us something patriotic.
I do not like wars. Plastering vehicles in propaganda slogans seems hollow. I no longer have faith in anybody in charge. I see the detour my country has taken, and the prospect fills me with sorrow.
But there are things that still make America great, and they will never go away. Text is permanent when scorched into the brains of those who appreciate it.
Show us something cold.
I'm not sure why I used to love this time of night. There was something about pretending that I was the only person awake, that the whole world slumbered under the enchantment of a shadowy sorceress with a face of opal and water which never inhabited the same appearance twice. It is up to me to save humanity, so I would work late into the night. Shortly before dawn I would launch my notebooks, and they would transform the sky into a single blazing piece of Baltic amber. A banshee wail would vibrate itself free from my throat, and they would all wake, unaware that the very unlikely thing that stood between them and certain doom was a timid girl sequestered in the Western Pennsylvanian countryside.
I don't think like that anymore because I lost the ardent belief that magic lurks in every obscured recess of existence. Maybe I just grew out of four-thirty-in-the-morning. Or maybe it left me behind because it got tired of waiting.
I drank a little too much last night.
I'm not feeling the whole Driving Back to New Castle for Brunch thing right now.
It's no secret that I've been feeling altogether restless lately, but I'm not doing a very good job of leaving my apartment unless I have to. What's the point of living in the Big City if I refuse to explore it?
I mused over this to Scruffy, so he decided to evoke a smile from me. It worked!
Then I got invited to a cook-out that was being thrown by friends of mine whom I haven't seen in literally years. I tried to beg myself not to go because there'll be tons of people I don't know and I've been fumbling over my words so much anymore that I'm sure I appear to be socially retarded. But, whatever happened to me being a girl of action? Even if I have to force myself to get back to that point, it's imperative that I return.
Now the trick is finding where the shindig is. At the very least, I am dressed up nice, which is a good boost for anybody. All I need is a Queen of England hat.
{I have no clue what this picture is all about. The automatic timer surprised me.}