two thoughts

1) To get out of this notorious funk.... I'm going to try concentrating on others. It seems that I am the problem, that I am thinking about myself too frequently and with too much self importance. so, that 's what i'm not going to do. I'm going to think about others more. first. positively. not negatively. i'll let you know how that goes.

2) Megan posted this on her facebook and I think it's beautiful. Just wanted to share it with some more people :)

"The world is chaotic, certainly, and is always cliched. Face it: our lives are full of stories already told. Our parents die, our lovers leave us, and surprise! begin to love others. The dog grows old and we watch our own aging faces in the mirror. What is new is not what we tell, but how we tell it. The lyric essay is one way to do this: it demands (or perhaps asks, with a knowing smile) that we stay awake to the chance associations and intuitive connections that make life bearable. Or really, to be more precise, it asks us to create those very connections as far as they will go and pinch them together at the end.

This is what I love about all braided things: bread, hair, essays, rivers, our own circulatory systems pumping blood to our brains and our hearts. I love the fact of their separate parts intersecting, creating the illusion of wholeness, but with the oh-so-pleasurable texture of separation...Poets, of course, have known this all along. They blow the world apart and put it back together again...

Bread has always been a miracle. As has poetry. And language itself, the tremendous urge to communicate. To live our lives in our shattered ways and still be happy: this is miraculous. The Sabbath bread helps us to see that an extraordinary pattern binds our days together. The braided loaf, set on a table, makes of that table an altar. Our hearts may give the illusion of one muscular organ, but think how the florid chambers converge, and of the many veins and arteries that wind their way by design to reach this fleshy core. They come together; they intersect; they beat an urgent rhythm beneath our skin."

-Brenda Miller