Destruction

I just found out that someone else I know is getting separated from her husband. She just moved into her own place clear on the other side of town and everything. How many couples my age does that make? Three? Four? No, five, maybe. Six! I’m losing count. And I’m not even thirty yet.

There was a time, like maybe two years ago, when this would have given me a little threatening needle-prick, this would’ve gotten my hackles up. You know, as a married person who publicly is so sure of herself, and her rock-solid marriage. But since then I’ve seen that being married isn’t about being rock-solid at all. I’m not still married because I’m good at it.

Now I’m just sad. I don’t feel separate, like just like my friends are splitting up; I feel like a cookie being eaten. I wonder if my friends and family are a representative sample. I wonder if half of the people I know who get married will split up,

like America.

regarding photos

I can’t make heads or tails of the WordPress photo limitations, despite the hordes of discussion communities on the topic (shudder). My intention is to keep photo journals of my garden and other pretty things (more back-dated photos to come, so keep scrolling down, people!), but if I hit my limit, we’ll see if I’ll pay for an upgrade. Probably not. More likely I’ll start linking to my Flickr page, which I love.

But in the meantime, all is well and strewn with photos on my pretty page. Let’s hope it stays that way.

Resale shop, Roscoe Village

[05/04/2008, Saturday afternoon, in dishes & sundry]

MOM: Don’t touch NOTHING, okay?
GIRL: (silent, wanders)
MOM: Sweetie? So what are you gonna touch?
GIRL: (dreamily, reaching towards shelf) Anything…
MOM: NOTHING! Don’t touch NOTHING!
GIRL: (silent)
MOM: So what are you gonna touch?