Clarissa Peterson of First Book wrote this to me, and I promised to share:

August 26 and 27 are Borders National Benefits Days. First Book is handing out a coupon for 10% off at Borders on those days – and an additional 10% of purchases made with the coupon will be donated back to First Book by Borders. A good way to save money on back-to-school purchases and help First Book at the same time.

Rob gives this assignment:
Psychologists Ed Diener and Martin E.P. Seligman cite 150 studies that suggest economic factors have little to do with happiness levels. For example, the Masai of Kenya, whose per capita income is under $300 a year, are as satisfied with their lives as the 400 wealthiest plutocrats in America. People living in the slums of Calcutta are slightly less filled with well-being, but not much. Your assignment, Leo, is to explore the personal implications of this. Can you get to the point where you truly feel that your ability to enjoy life has little to with how much money you have?

And then Cainer says this:
Everything you need is near you. It may not be obvious. You may have to do a little detective work and employ some ingenuity too. You may have to slightly rethink the notion of what it is you actually need. You may have to remember resources that you have not drawn on in a while or swallow your pride and request assistance from a companion. But as long as you are prepared to reach out hopefully, Jupiter insists that you will soon find something solid and reliable that you can grasp.

It’s cool when the boys are on the same general page, don’t you think?

And while I generally treat horoscopes as sort of writing prompts, I like that both are in agreement with my decision to check out of corporate America for a while.

I’m not a great fan of audiobooks, really, because they tend to take too long (I’m a fast reader), but the sinus pressure in my head and the new toy (green zen vision m (30 GB)) have combined to make me a temporary fan of the medium.

My first was a total geekfest, the Alien Voices production of Spock vs. Q, performed by Nimoy and deLancie. Definitely worth the hour and the $6.

My second, which I am barely into, is March by Geraldine Brooks, which is the story of Josephine March’s FATHER away at war, and, much like Wide Sargasso Sea was to Jane Eyre is more a companion to the original work than any sort of pastiche.

Alas the reader is not quite the voice I crave, the one I remember from late nights of listening to the KPFA Evening Reading just before sleep as a freshman in high school. He doesn’t have a bad voice. But the one I remember reading The Call of the Wild is the ultimate reading voice.

And no, I don’t know the names of either.

Still, for Alcott fans, I do recommend March, by Geraldine Brooks.

I love technology. My regular doctor being inaccessable to visit after work or on weeknds, I did web-check-in with CareNow (the local urgent care facility) because my head was so stuffed last night that I was weepy and my teeth hurt, and as A. pointed out during our mandatory workfest (which, yes, I attended), I had GREEN circles under my eyes. Like the color of bruises, but just from not sleeping, and being sick.

So I did web check in, and they verified my insurance, told me they’d call when a room was ready, and I noodled on the computer for a bit. An hour later they called. I signed in, sat down, only had to wait about eight minutes, and was seen, first by a friendly nurse, then by an extremely attractive and African-American PA, who gave me prescriptions for an antibiotic, a strong decongestant, a lot of water, and rest.

Our next stop was at Walgreens where another really attractive young man (oddly reminiscent of Mos Def as Ford Prefect in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy) filled my prescription in five minutes flat.

And then I came home.
And sort of watched Uptown Girls cuz it was on tivo
And sort of watched HHG cuz it was on cable
And mostly kind of vegged because it hurts to talk, and my head’s all spinny and I can’t BREATHE, so I’m more than a little crabby.

Missed CSz last night – wanted to go help with door and watch Blue Show, but honestly bed is where I SHOULD be right now. I did remember to call and let them know.

Craving cheese enchiladas.

And tea. Must have tea.

Mostly, though, I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.
Cuz my head’s all spinny and this staying vertical thing is quite taxing just now.

Take care.

Dear Almost-Birthday-Sister,

I’ve meant to send you a disc and card but have fallen into a pattern of work, sleep, work, sleep, with brief interludes of eating very quickly, in the hopes that doing so will neither take too much time from work, or boost my energy so much that sleep becomes impossible. It’s not a healthy way to live, but it’s only two more weeks. I think I can hold out that long.

I’ve thought about you all day, wishing for one of our late night IM chats, counting the moments of enlightenment and clarity you’ve helped me find, the smiles, the new experiences that are somehow related to knowing you, and the calmness wrapped in a spark of creativity that I associate with you in the chaotic place that is my mind.

Somehow, I think YOUR mind is much less chaotic. Or is chaotic in a different sense.

But differences are good, no? If we were all the same the world would be quite dreary, and there would be far less reason for art and music and words, ink and pictures and long rambling conversations that mosey along different tangents like a stream that meanders through a lush wood, along a village green, and finally bisects a beach on its way to merge with the ocean.

I hope that your day was spent surrounded by people and things who are meaningful to you, and that you smiled a lot, and enjoyed a balance of laughter and quiet reflection.

And if there was cake, that’s even better.

My almost-birthday-sister, today I salute you.
Thank you for being my friend.

– Birthday was good. Now own spiffy lime green ZEN VISION M thanks to Fuzzy aka Best Husband in the World.

– I have a horrible cold. And I have to work today. And tomorrow.

– Comments should work now. I managed to make them all unworky. But I think they’re fixed. Thanks to Janet for pointing out the exact error.

My birthday’s on Thursday, and I think Fuzzy’s agreed that upgrading my mp3 player would be a good idea, as I’m constantly complaining about the limited space on my Creative Zen Micro (5 GB).

I’m considering either the 30GB Creative Zen Vision M OR a 30 GB iPod (I know, I know, perish the thought), but I’m honestly torn.

Do weigh in with your opinion?

I enjoyed workshop today, mostly, but came away from it feeling like everything I attempt I completely suck at. I’ve never claimed to be funny. Sometimes I’m good with words. Sunday is tainted by the dread of Monday and work, and I’m already bone-weary, and feeling like I never get rest.

Sometimes, even the best of us whine.
And I’m so NOT the best.

We all have special places, restaurants, pubs, bookstores, that we frequent so often that we begin to assert over them a sort of emotional ownership, even as we realize intellectually that we are mere visitors. Sometimes these places are our college hangouts (I have a special fondness for the Mel’s Drive-In at Geary and Arguello in SFO, for example, because it was the place of many late-night milk-shake and Ms. Pac-Man extravaganzas). Sometimes we adopt them later in life – there’s a Japanese restaurant in Irving that Fuzzy and I visit almost often enough to have ‘our’ table.

And then there are the places where there really is a connection, a sense of history. For me, as for much of my family, that place is The Diner. My mother pointed out in a forum post on the diner’s website (White Crystal Diner.dot com), that most of us never referred to it by name, because we never had to, and in fact, I think I was at least thirteen before I realized it even had a name. It was simply The Diner, and everyone in town knew what that meant.

It was the ultimate family business, operated in part by family I barely knew, loved and hated at once by other family who will ever see me as a nine-year-old girl with strawberry-blonde braids and thick glasses, the little girl who got yelled at for spinning on the bar stools until she was sick, who was greeted every year on her birthday, by a fake candle poked through the tin-foil covering of her very special bowl of rice pudding, who associates the place with innocence and childhood and endless balmy summers at the Jersey shore.

I remember bringing my cousin Ginny, 31 years older than me, who called me her birthday girl because I was born on HER birthday, a bouquet of black balloons the day I turned nine and she turned 40. She pretended outrage, but we all knew she loved the attention, and the tips. “Forty is Sporty,” we told her, and the balloons echoed our words.

I remember, several years later, no longer sporting braids arguing with Moose (Anthony) about what a California burger should really include. “Sprouts,” I teased, having lived in the golden state for all of three years by then. “Californians put sprouts on EVERYTHING.” In the end, we compromised with bacon and avocado. It probably wasn’t the first time I ever ate real food there (as in NOT rice pudding) but it’s the one time I remember doing so. That burger was perfect.

I remember my cousins, Cathy and KJ, Ginny’s kids, complaining that they were asked to help out when things got busy. I wasn’t old enough to be asked, but I’d have volunteered in a heartbeat, and even though I KNOW how hard Moose and Ginny worked, and how tired and greasy they were at the end of the day, I’m still a little jealous I never got to have that experience.

I remember Aunt Molly’s red-red lipstick, and how her ever present Chanel No. 5 perfume has combined with the deepest of sense memory so much that it now smells like rice pudding to me. I remember her air kisses, and perfect hair, and how even when she was tired her eyes were always laughing.

I hear their voices in my head, and the rhythms and cadences of their speech, and I use them in character work, when I can, either in text or, sometimes, on stage.

Today, four days before I turn 36, I remember most the total magic of walking through the door at The Diner, and sitting on one of the aquamarine-upholstered stools, and having rice pudding placed in front of me without me ever having to ask.

The White Crystal was sold several years ago, and is currently being refurbished, and will be shipped to its new location in Springfield, MA. Long may she live.

I quit my job.