thursday-itis.

That subject line reminds me of the line from Office Space; "Does somebody have a case of the Moooooonnnndays? (said all simperingly)"

But I have it. And I have to know how you people, all eight of you, can stomach my depressed verbal sabre dance on such a regular basis. So today I refer you to three great blogs, penned by bloggers who write (oh, so very much) better than me, and who deserve your readership much more than I do. (I deserve nothing. Please step on me and leave me for dead. Is it any wonder I didn't do super-well in the dating world? Not that I've ever cracked *that* scary-ass oyster open for you all to see and pity me for; oh, the things I have in store. I've read too much Seuss lately.)

Thing One. (Exhibit Two re: too much Seuss; and I refer to my entitling of this list, not the blogs to which they link)

The night was perfect. It was the air that moved only slightly to chill her, it was the silence of the shore. She had glowing particles on her breasts, her hands, in her hair. It was the smell of salt air, the sounds of the ocean, the darkness of the horizon.

Thing Two.

I discovered something that moment. I thought about it as my mom yelled at my dad about the pipe while he tried to maneuver galvanized steel into the trunk of the car. I looked in the rear view mirror at them, their gray hair bright against the prairie sky, the sunlight emphasizing their mismatched clothes, my dad’s overgrown eyebrows and the purse my mom clutched under her arm.

I discovered that for certain people, introspection is a luxury item. To them, lamenting change and lost love is a waste of time. I discovered that my dad grieved over someone throwing away plumbing conduit more than the end of his daughter’s 26-year marriage.

Thing Three.

Many years ago, around the dawn of time, Jeff and I went to a bar, to our bar. I can claim it was our bar because Chicago is a town of neighborhood bars, and this one was in our neighborhood, less than a block away. We belonged in the pleasantly stale rat hole that is a Chicago neighborhood bar. We lived within stumbling distance. We frequented it regularly. It was ours. One night, a weekend, we were crowded out of our customary spot by interlopers, a splinter group of the homogenous hordes that ventured like tourists west across the river, back when across the river was regentrifying, before it became It to point and stare at all the indie sons-of-bitches who dared to live somewhere besides Lincoln Park.

Read them. Laugh with them. Love them. Love them and leave me for them. I'll understand.

Seriously. I would if I were you. (Only, I wouldn't, really, b/c I'm a freakishly loyal, annoying, tail-smacking-the-head-of-the-nearest-toddler fur-shedding tongue-lolling Irish Setter like that. Truly. But don't be like me. I'm a pathetic mess. Imitate someone cooler than me -- e.g. anyone else.)

Love, Debbie

Comments

Oh, Debbie. I love you. You are very worthy of readership, my friend.

I will definitely check out the other blogs, too, but don't expect me to leave you for them. I know where my loyalties lie. :-)

Posted by: Nancy | February 01, 2007 at 09:49 AM

You made me laugh (and also made my day). Do you know how many times I read your blog and then rip large chunks of hair out, thinking, man, that chick can write! Why can't I do that?

But thank you.

Posted by: borneochica | February 01, 2007 at 12:03 PM

Ha! Borneochica stole my line.
I think these writers are tremenjus, of course, but Debbie, you are awesome too. Possibly awesomest of all. Awesomest in the land!!! (Said with a bad fake British accent, really loudly)

Posted by: MelanieinOrygun | February 01, 2007 at 04:15 PM