as the rain drips out of the sky and down windows and walls for the third day in a row, snot finally drips out of my brain and down the back of my throat.  if possible, it’s even grosser than it sounds.  tony and shaun and i had a lovely time discussing mucous and its different incarnations and activities as we waded to lunch through the puddles of rain.  mostly, i feel like i’m going to puke.

last night at the harp, we sat inside because it was raining and the porch roof had, of course, caved in.  all ten of us crowded around two small tables in the dark, eating caramels and drinking beer, putting the caramel wrappers in an empty pint glass.  jonathan went around the table asking questions like “if you were a statue, what would you look like, what would someone throw at you, and what sound would you make when it hit?”  my favorite was kari’s, who said she’d be a clown that said, “woo-hoo!” when hit with a cherry snowcone.  then he asked, “if you could replace your legs with anything at all, what would it be?”  go go gadget legs (jess), gummi worms (tony), springs (rob), giant piano keys (me), the legs of a victorian table (hanh), the bottom half of a biplane (kari), and i can’t remember the others.  if you were the bottom half of a biplane, would you live in a hangar?  where would you work?  what would your computer desk look like?

yesterday, though, was the day that i realized i’m not going to be great.  what i mean is that i never knew that i’m not going to be a giant in my field, i’m not going to do something that makes a big difference in the lives of lots of strangers, and my name will not be an adjective.  until yesterday i didn’t know that, but it’s true.  i have nothing to say.  i am mediocre.  so instead i’m going to be a technical writer for a plumbing company.  okay?

you know what i want to do right now?  i want to sit on a table, cross-legged, under a pavilion in a park with a friend, watching the rain and listening to the cars swish by.

but first i’ll have to wade through all these puddles of snot.