(via Stuff…)

I made Eric stay up too late painting the officesery this icy blue with me.  The sun started staying up later too.  I turned 30 and fell in love with this tissue paper.  Brooklyn got pretty again.  We made these blocks for the baby and finally got our Etna maps framed and hung, along with the sailboat mobile, which Eric keeps pronouncing mo-bull.  I visited Eric at work.  We finished baby supply shopping, mostly.  I continued to get huge, continued to love my favorite coffee shop in the world, continued to love the smell of rosemary.

Twenty-five days left…

I had never noticed this before, but last night as we watched Monday’s episode of the Daily Show, I caught Jon mouthing along as Wyatt delivered his lines.  Suddenly I’m reading all his behind-the-desk twitchiness differently.  He’s either [still lovably] a total control-freak, or using a kind of terrible trick to keep his own delivery paced.

Anyway, go look; you can see it throughout the one on one with Wyatt Cenac (starting around 11:00), but it’s most noticeable on this line at 13:27:

Don’t get me started on what happens to a black man in the south wielding a Charleston Chew.

The Impostor from Eric Wright on Vimeo.

This is so lovely.  I want to remember to enjoy the simple things I know well as much as the things that are new, different, and exciting.

Yesterday as I was loading the dryers, [laundromat owner, Rose] came up to me and suggested I redistribute them. Towels with the sweatpants and all of the sheets alone in another. She described, with obvious rapture, the look of a properly loaded dryer. The gentle tumble, likes with likes, lots of movement and a perfect, slow spiral. She said it was a thing of beauty, a dryer loaded with care and I swear I could see a difference. A mesmerizing, hypnotizing difference.

[...] Everyone has those little secret happinesses- the spin of a dryer or the droop of a dead stem.

Anyway, here’s where we are: 10 new inches around my waist; about 14 new pounds there too.  It’s a little frightening to think how much I’ll add to those two columns in the remaining 2016 hours.

Unrelated, Eric brought me this last night at almost 9:00, and I was all, that’s so dorky but awww, but it turns out that “baby” cupcake was intended for someone to buy for Valentine’s Day.  So now scratch the awww.  That’s so dorky.

“Uh, they’re interchangeable.” I said. “Womb’s the religious version.”

I didn’t manage to ask him why he was asking me because I was still dizzy from the glucose solution I’d guzzled twenty minutes earlier, which basically tasted like thick, fruitish poison and made my body feel like surely the Mayans were right.

I imagine he brought it up because one of his dumber patients asked him once, in a voice like Olive Oyl’s, “Hey Doc, what’s my lady business called?”