Life in the Slow Lane

Periodically, when I need a paperclip, I reach into my handy box of paperclips and pull out one, only to find an entire chain of clips trailing behind. I find this surprisingly irritating as it automatically impedes the normal rhythm of my day, as I must carefully unhook clip after clip. I couldn't understand who had the time or the necessary boredom to link the clips together and then the rudeness to leave them in the supply area where I occasionally went to grab another handful of clips. I am too embarrassed to confess how long it was before I realized that it was I who linked those clips together. Something about a phone call where I am concentrating on what a person is saying, yet not needing to take copious notes, brings out the paperclip-chaining in me. I guess now I have only to figure out what activity I must do to bring out the paperclip- un chaining in me.

On my last birthday I received an address book, beautifully bound and tempting to anyone fond of books and paper. I am one of those perplexing creatures who wander through book stores to stroke books I will never buy and no aisle in discount department stores tempts me more than the stationery aisle, but this address book haunts me. If I knew that any of the friends who joined together to purchase this book read my blog, I would not admit this, but many times I have considered returning the gift... or worse, re-gifting it. Day after day I have eyed it on my night stand, like an untrusted acquaintance , waiting to make a tenuous peace. In my mind there are two types of books: those which are full of words and are not to be written in, and those which are empty and are to be filled with words. But this address book confuses me. It is not empty, as it suggests 32 address entries for every letter of the alphabet, but it is meant to be filled with the flowing script only possible with per...

One of the reasons I chose to go back to school now is that people continually told me "It only gets harder, the longer you wait." I had no idea they were referring to memorizing a new student ID number.

I think the next generation of packing boxes should come with a rewind button. "Simply hit 'Rewind' and all of the contents of the box will hurry from the shelves and drawers where you placed them and back to their cardboard home! Guaranteed to make packing a snap... or rather a push of the button!"

When I first turned into the residential neighborhood of smaller, older homes, I began to wonder if maybe I would be spending the week in a room wall to wall with beds. And then I turned up a street that said "No Outlet" and slowly drove up the block, checking the house numbers: 438 and I was looking for 700. In a block with a dead end. But what a dead end! Two stone pillars on either side of a gate with a path stretching up and up and up, through gardens and wonders and... peace. And up two flights of stairs and down a long, long hallway to my room, where I throw open the curtains and find that I am perched just perfectly balanced between the world I left behind me and what lies before me: the world of misty covered mountains and open meadows. I half suspect that if I could manage to open the window without damaging the screen I could find myself in that other world Where lungs fill with an air more pure than any other Where feet walk more surely on craggy peaks Where eyes...

I'm sitting in a conference room by myself, pondering my stay here tucked against the mountains, and the semi-silence, self-imposed and otherwise... and one of my professors walks in, picks up an abandoned banana and holds it up to his ear. "Hello? Hello?" And looking confused, he walks back out, still holding the banana. I wonder what sorts of things I will be learning from him.

Last night, as I was falling asleep I thought to myself “Oh! I need to change the month and year on my date stamp.” And this morning I was so proud of myself when I pulled out the stamp and remembered the mental note I made for myself. That is, until I noticed my stamp still read 2006.