Of a rare sort

(source: an anatomical artist)

Two years ago I was desperately searching for a job. And I actually wrote out a sad little post (that I never published), that was kind of honest and honestly, a downer. I didn't post it, though, because in the middle of writing it, I got a job.
Anyway. I am kind of at that point in the Now What/Grad School? situation. So I figured, if I write about it, maybe I will get random inspiration/revelation in the middle of writing and never have to publish this post either! Foolproof.
Just kidding.
But this decision, this Now What thing, is the Headache with which I've been at odds for years, usually just staring it down in a kind of dumbfounded way, or braced in its headlock until I am forced to shake it off in defeat and carry on with something more lighthearted (wait, what? Bad writing; in a headache's headlock? Bad job, self).
I could go on at length about this, trust me-- one doesn't overthink something for years and years without at least a multi-volume work's worth-- but... let's not.
Anyway. Anyone want to tell me what to pursue?
No?
I'll just go refill the ole coffee mug then and get back to sitting. Back porches and fallish weather were made for this sort of night.

two pets minus one, or: some sentences you've probably already heard.

1. Jeremy was startled by a giant black widow.

2. I got a jar.

a. Jeremy poked holes in a lid.

b. He filled the jar with grass and sticks.

3. She built a web.

4. Jeremy dropped three moths in.

a. Two dead

b. One alive

5. She wrapped the alive moth.

6. She drank.

a. Jeremy and I celebrated.

b. Fascination

7. Day Two: I took her to a field and set her free.

8.

oh come now

We all know good and well that this site isn't necessarily autobiographical. If it were, I'd have bombarded it with all kinds of things as of late, like wedding posts (oh hey, I got married), or pre-wedding posts, or maybe Chicago pictures, or some before/after shots of our house cleaning project (on a scale of zero to Hoarders... pulling it down a few notches) (actually maybe I still will do that one), or football season or friend gatherings.

But no, this site is dedicated to important things. Like this text transcript:

Jori: Teatime

Corbin: I wish I had teatime but I forgot my tea. So I just left work instead.

And this, a Jolly Good Comparison*:

Except he's sassier. And... less human body-y/god of the dead-y.

*Term copyright 2005, mine roommate of old

tribute

PAUSE. And raise your morning coffee to our near and dear Rachelle.

Of whom this is a pretty old picture, but my options were limited, considering we are both more often behind our cameras than in front of them when together. And history has kind of proven that this is for the best. Not that that's stopped us from trying. How many times did we go portrait shooting, with only one another for subject matter? I am so, so sorry, Rachelle.

To Rachelle- who deserves the grandest of grand birthdays, whose friendship I am eternally grateful for and baffled by. I hope your day is the sort that is best fit to a Goodbye, Lenin-esque soundtrack, with a few dancey pieces thrown in. I hope your year is filled with moving literature, mind-blowing works of art (that you both make and encounter), and many a fulfilling venture. And here's to many more.

(To be fair, I kind of owe a lot of tributes these days. Actually always. I could go on at length about this. Chances are, if you're reading this: I owe you dearly.)

obligatory hail picture

Please note the MorningStar box for scale (bigger than golf balls). Excitement!

A Thank You Note: Rough Draft

Dear That Weekend When Everyone Visited Town and We Played A Lot of Rock Band 2,

Thank you for eternally embedding Toby Keith's "How Do You Like Me Now" on repeat on my mind. It has been running on a loop pretty much since we parted ways. So... thank you for that.

You must know that these are pretty busy days in my life. I have a lot to do and a lot to think about. And you must have seen this, and assumed I needed a soundtrack. Of one song. From a genre I typically actively avoid.

I don't know why you did it.

But we parted about three weeks ago, That Weekend. And that song is still there, twanging and sassy-lyric-ing away, nonstop. And every time I think I've found reprieve, in silence or in other, less-abrasive-on-the-nerves music, BAM: I notice I am mindlessly singing Mr. Keith's chorus, out of nowhere, in a soft, distracted voice.

So again- I do thank you. It's been a real treat these last few weeks. And I'm being sincere. It has made me appreciate all other music all the more. It has even made me hate The Music Man's "Shipoopi" a little less, and honestly, I never thought anything could do that, ever. It has cast a loving glow on days before we met, when songs stuck in my head would eventually fade and I'd move on with life without the constant fear of a recurrence.

You've made a difference, That Weekend. Seriously. So instead of cursing you, I thank you. I'll still curse the song (as it goes on, even now, in my mind). But I thank you. Now that I'm experiencing a rock bottom of the World of Songs Stuck In Head, I can welcome other atrocities, like a four day jag of "Little Drummer Boy", with a warm embrace.

Love,

Jori

I think I need a print of this for my house.

(SOURCE)