Kramered.

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[prefaces]

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I was searching for something more. I had to search twice as long because I only have one eye.

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A sorry state of affairs.

Even though she sought out the answer she knew she would find, she was not prepared for the shock. It turned her stomach into a hot balloon of bile. It was like she had blinkers on, only being able to focus on the tiny white rectangles of emails in the reader pane, words blurring and shifting back into focus. She felt a desperate sadness.

Every exchange was so similar to what she had been through. A begging and longing for a life not so cruelly misaligned. The negotiation of stolen hours to spend precious moments, fitted in and around lives full of responsibilities like an addict would a fix. I felt lonely for her. For I knew he would never leave. I could sense the pain of jealousy. It doesn't make it any easier if the jealousy is held by a third party over a fourth or even a fifth. A relationship stressed and pressed with pleasure and pain, founded on a plain of knowing infidelity and manipulation does not a happy, trusting union make.

But it is too taboo to talk openly about. And while she couldn't look either of them in the eye, she empathised so strongly she felt she too was a part of this beautiful, sordid pain. But then a bitterness seeped in like blood in water. The realisation that this dance is such a common commoditised item. That the failings and strayings of love are so widespread that the formula was there for the patenting. That no one is special. People don't ever leave. They get left. Because people like us, she thought, can't live to be unloved.

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Sleeping face.

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The Daily Moses

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Just sitting at home reading some Ayn Rand with the cats.

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The brown horse won!

Us. At the races.

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Omg he's coming at us. Who The meringue guy. Who else?

Jp

[wrdbnr]

DEEP FAILINGS

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When it comes to sponsoring Syrians, I'm stumped.

Father

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A Carefully Considered Faceplant

There's nothing quite like a 5am phone interview with the HR lady at the best digital agency in the world headquartered in New York to get the adrenaline to course through your tired veins. Your ennui gets a big slap across the face and your apathy is booted out while the real you comes alive in relative darkness nursing a double Nescafe with three sugars and staring wired but bleary-eyed through the blinds as the midnight black of night starts softening to blue to a soundtrack of routine questions about your experience in TV production.

It's a cosmic, creepy thing. This whole "chatting to America" thing. For someone for whom the child-defined pinnacle of success was to work at Saatchi & Saatchi NY, the moment of truth that I should be so grateful for this opportunity is all but lost on me. In fact I am so grateful, I immediately begin to work on my "Plan Bs" as SF calls it.

A backup plan never hurts. I, with more impulses than a Ritalin shortage in a kindergarten, speak with wisdom. A backup plan ensures your expectations are managed and there is at least a sliver of rationality and logic to fall back on when the emotional shit hits the fan.

But emotional shit still sucks.

Le sigh.

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I use the Internet every day. I know what's going on. I read the blogs.

Dad on Internet access.

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What a wonderful evening catching up with people I haven't seen in so long. People's lives change so drastically and without warning, while others purposefully carve out change. It really is an intense emotionally thing to see such a stable couple confess to self-help treatment which instigated a change to stability and success, or a staunch woman, one half of a decade long relationship, shiver as she talks about the broken union and adjusting to her new life. People are really so beautiful in their dimensions and I really do love that.

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We should not shed tears. That is a surrender of the body to the heart. It is only proof that we are beings that do not know what to do with our hearts.

Noone

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Disabled puppy learning to walk will decimate any chances you had of not crying today. That exercized my tear ducts so much, now THEY can walk on their own. Every once in a while, you delude yourself into thinking you're a pretty inspirational son-of-a-gun, what with how you rebounded from that injury/drinking problem/nasty divorce/whatever, but unless you're Nelson Mandela or someone else in the top .00001% of nifty humans, you've got nothing on Mick the Boston Terrier. Not only was he born with four completely useless limbs, he also didn't have "developed cognitive thought" or "books on how to live with having four completely useless limbs"—he was just awesome, all on his lonesome, and he tackled physical therapy without the ability to whine and bitch (no pun intended) about it either. With the help of the Mia Foundation, he kept his head up through the whole ordeal, despite his physical inability to keep his head up.  Personally, I pretty much shut down in the face of slight criticism from friends and family, so I guess that's why I'm a blogger instead of an inspirational Boston Terrier puppy. It's a shame that we humans bred dogs in such ways that these genetic problems crop up so often, but on the other hand, we bred them to do naturally all the things we wish we could: be brave, be determined, be cheerful, and above all, to never give up.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sit in a dark room somewhere and shake under a blanket. (by Johnny McNulty) Via Happy Place

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Muz and Kramer's Food Reviews

I was tasting the beef roti all night. And I didn’t mind. Five stars