Took a 1-hr bike ride today. I feel like myself again.

How about this:

each of us writes in a paper journal for 30 minutes. When you’re done, stop, walk around, and then write a haiku based on what you wrote in those 30 minutes. Post only the haiku. 

Anyone else game? 

EDITED TO ADD:

List our shared burdens 

Macaw shrieks in the driveway 

Cook and clean our fears. 

Yes, I do. Particularly in this interview about you know what. 

In other news, today I was told that I am a horrible evil woman. Another person offered to smack me across the face. Both of them wanted to cut in line. I said nope. 

I just finished a webinar on career advice for playwrights. It was helpful but not exactly worth the $75 I paid for it. But it was helpful. Maybe $50 worth of helpful. 

This gets me thinking. This eveningI had two good things happen in the career I wish I could embrace fully , after shoveling a load of shit all day. Can I just drop the shit shoveling? Oh, income. Right. 

I am not in the worst mood. The temperature is coming down. Things are not that bad. I'm tired, but not unhappy. It's like bubble wrap. 

Yesterday I was walking west on Arch to go get some lunch. I saw a Buddhist monk walking ahead of me. He was an older guy,  had a shaved head and a worn yellow robe, over jeans and sneakers. I walked behind him for a block or so, and noticed he would smile at passers-by, try to engage them, and they would wave and smile a little bit, but keep going.  I thought, "Buddhist Monk! Paragon of perfection! I'm happy to be walking behind this guy!" I've seen Buddhist and Jesuit monks in the area before, but never engaged with them. 

He turned and saw me, then let me catch up with him. He offered me a wooden bead bracelet, and this shiny gold card. 

I thanked him, and then he handed me a pad and a pen, with a little spreadsheet, indicating that I should write my name and "peace" on it, and give him twenty bucks. 

I reached into my purse and pulled out some cash. I had a five and three or four ones folded together, and I handed them to him. He wasn't happy. He said, "Twenty." I said, "This is all the cash I have." He said, "Ten." I said, "This is all the cash I have." He said "Ten," and I repeated the statement. It wasn't a lie. 

He shook his head and walked away. 

I did a google search for "kai guang amulet," and found that apparently monks giving tokens of peace in exchange for suggested donations of $20, $30 or $50 is commonplace in New York. Whether the items are blessed or not, and to what the money goes, is up for debate. 

So, now I have a wooden bead bracelet on my wrist, and a golden ticket in my purse. I'm trying to work the placebo effect as hard as I can; wooden beads on elastic around your wrist is a gentle reminder. Am I feeling more peaceful? I don't know. 

Here is my elaborate system of alarms to wake myself up in the morning. 

I started sleeping through songs such as Bowie's "The Stars Are Out Tonight," so now I have songs alternating on different days. The 5:15 alarm is just to cut through heavy sleep, and make sure I actually hear the 5:30 alarm enough to get up. The 5:45 alarm is in case I sleep through the 5:30 alarm. The later ones are to keep me from forgetting that I have to walk out the door at 6:30, dressed and packed or not.

Here's the playlist of tunes: 

Abigail, Belle of Kilronan 

Mozart's Concerto for Piano & Orchestra #23 

Sh-Boom 

When The Saints Go Marching In

Mr. Sandman (lyrically counterintuitive, but peppy) 

Say It Again 

Alyda 

Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying 

Needle In A Haystack 

You're No Good

Come And Get Your Love 

Zig Zag Wanderer

A song that I have promised never to use as my alarm ever again is the Postmodern Jukebox bluegrass version of Blurred Lines. It opens with a shout of, "EVERYBODY GET UP!" 

Which sends both Vince and me through  the roof. Not in a good way. 

We'll see how this works out. 

Added, only for Friday at 5:30: Peg, by Steely Dan. 

Stick a toothpick in me.

I'm done. 

What was your last name before you were married?

Lynch. No, Gray. No. I don't remember. 

So... when you were a child, in school, what last name did you use? 

I'm not sure. 

I need this application for this document expedited it's an emergency I'm going to Jamaica on the 12th

(really? Because you need a liver transplant and the only place you can get it is at the world-renowned Montego Bay Hospital, under the care of Dr. Hurricane McRum? That IS an emergency!) 

we can have it for you in five business days, on June 5th.

no that's not soon enough I'm going to Jamaica on the 12th it was a super cheap package I just had to have it

the 5th is before the 12th

they told me you had same-day service here

we have same-day service in Scranton

why does Scranton have same day service and you don't? 

The population of Scranton is 75,281. The population of Philadelphia is 1.56 million. We get 200 applications a day.

but I can get same day service in Scranton 

ok, here's your application. 

*tsh* I can't go to Scranton

I guess  you're not going to Jamaica either.

Here are the seedings Madeline gave me. 

I transplanted 3 into larger pots, broke open the compost bin, and mixed that nasty stanky liquid in, gave them a soak. Vince had offered me cocktail hour before I went outside to re-pot them, and for some reason, Maslow's Need Hierarchy made me say, "in a minute, I have to play in the dirt first." 

Clearly, I need more pots. And dirt. And plants.

Today I communicated with a deaf person and a person from Mali (who spoke French; not at the same time) via a translation line. I'm living in the FUTURE.

Sometimes when people start to write something (this is something I've heard  many, many times), "I hesitate to get started because I don't want to compromise what's in my head." 

I worked on Jarnsaxa Rising for a while yesterday. I printed out my outline and carried it to bed with me, re-read it, and re-read it again while the coffee brewed this morning. I have a clear idea for the next scene, but it's not going well.  I took the page for the scene I was working on and rewrote the outline in what I call "turns:" X wants Y but hits obstacle A, D wants N but hits obstacle Y. And then I write short sentences of how those stumbles toward goals over or around obstacles succeed or fail. 

As I was scrawling this, I came to what I thought was a weak end. In my head it was this:

ERIC: Why didn't you tell me?

SIF: You had to find out for yourself.

(Cue "Somewhere Over The Rainbow." It's the Wizard of Oz all over again.)

As I was scribbling, it cleared up, and I was pleasantly surprised. This came out. I'm transcribing my scribbled notes. 

ERIC: Why didn't you tell me? 

SIF: I can only make you grow, but not change, either you choose your form or something else chooses it for you. (Jarnsaxa has to learn this.) When a tree grows, its leaves turn toward the sun and bend with the wind, roots go to water. 

The line, "its leaves turn toward the sun" came from a theatre design class I had as an undergrad. We were talking about how if you design a forest, you have to consider that the sun will cause that forest to look a certain way, you have to take science into consideration, not just "what looks cool on a stage." 

My point is, you might think you know in advance every detail about your story, and that's good, you should. But there is a lot of room for discovery in the process of pencil, paper, scribbling and time, and those discoveries will improve what you think you have now. 

EDITED TO ADD: Sassy thinks that if she sits in my lap while I type, my job is to gently pet her. If I type, she bites my hands. BYE SASSY.

I am grateful for union-mandated breaks that allow me time to use the toilet, drink water, stuff half a protein bar in my face, and go outside to fart. 

FART JOKE! WOO HOO!!!!!!!!

The Internet needs an "is this worth it?" calculator. Buzzfeed needs a quiz.