Two good ideas and one very bad one...

Afognak, despite it's odd name and the even odder charachters that inhibit it, may quite possibly be my favorite place on Earth. Amazingly beautiful, cozy and comforting... a weekend there gives even my mamas homemade chicken soup a run for it's money.
While there, I thought up a handy invention that consists of...well, basically a toilet paper roll holder that can spin a line on to a reel while you use the john. The ultimate multitasker. I dreamt up the newest kinky pain; getting your man to have a jellyfish sting you just before your happy ending. And I decided to go into the woods armed with a gun I am most likely too scared to use in search of a kodiak brown bear in a place I was all but guaranteed to find one; the salmon river.
Well, I made it home safe so it must not have been that stupid. Cheers to good friends, great times, and interesting ideas!

Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs

So I found a flimsy paper back copy of a childhood favorite in the hospital lobby last week and I stole it. You remember the one where food and beverage products take the world by storm. How fabulous would it be if eggs and bacon snowed down every morning? Or if during your afternoon jog, fresh juice poured down from the sky? Dehydration and hunger would be a thing of the past. Imagine a life without arguing over whose turn it is to cook, or what's on the menu...we'd all just grab a plate and let the skies determine what's for dinner. Of course, it would get messy. And you might have to start worrying a bit more seriously about a death by giant pancake. But it'd sure keep things interesting. Maybe we'd stop seeking a thrill out of starting fires beneath pointless disagreements, participating in petty misdemeanors, and smoking crack and instead be amused by the weather.

My goodness, I may have just found a cure for malnutrition, world hunger, domestic violence, drug abuse, crime, and...dare I say it, war.
Or maybe I should lay off the LSD.

I'll Cry If I Want To...

The whole past week at work has been nothing but poop. Literally. Diarreah, constipation, prune juice and laxitives. A girl can take only so much. The breaking point was not the snippety grandma who bossed me in a voice sweeter than suger as I placed her in bed for the thirteenth time. BEFORE LUNCH! I did not lose it as I wiped the elderly mans bum, applied cream, and looked down... at the brown stain ON MY ARM! And when I caught a brick shaped loaf halfway through clean up out the back door of a man my Dad's age, I held back thinking only briefly that this must be how a doctor feels during a vaginal birth. But when I lifted the leg of a paraplegic upon request of a coworker and "pulled the trigger" so to speak on a loose steamy pile that was large enough to have been accumulating there all week, I laughed. Loudly. It was oh so inappropriate but try as I might I could not stop. It felt good, and was apparently contagious because everyone in the room was rolling before long. As silence fell and we made our escape, I had nothing left to say. Except; "the next time you throw a poop party, don't invite me."

Time and Place

I met a man who is charming and sweet, hilarious and fun. He makes me smile more than usual, which is saying a lot. We share a certain chemistry that I hadn't the foggiest idea existed until a short time ago. He is exactly who I want my son to grow into. Smart, polite, witty, hardworking, good looking.

And yet, I met him at the hospital. My place of employment. Fraternizing with a patient. Just weeks after a breakup that most likely should never have occured. What's more, he lives out of state and makes just a few short trips to Alaska each year for his amazingly cool and well paid career.

With a move on the horizon and tears fresh on my cheeks, I'm not quite ready for anything serious. Especially not a long distance fling with a guy I could potentially lose my job over. But why not a new friend and the opportunity to learn more? I'm interested.

innuendo or inflection

Robert Frost had the same birthday as Gregory Corso. Louie Armstrong was born on the same day that Giusseppe Verde died. Some things are connected by sense or seriality, innuendo or inflection.

I do not know which to prefer
the beauty of inflections
or the beauty of innuendos
The black bird whistling
or just after.