Putty Holes & Black Dildos

I seem to be falling back into a pattern of abundant productivity. The “me” me. Although, like an innocent bystander, a part of myself watches from the sidelines.

“Careful.”

“I know. I’m watching out.”

Yesterday was one of my errand days. I had a gazillion errands, personal and work-related, that I was stashing up for the weekend. They started dribbling out like a leaking faucet and by late afternoon they were flooding like our city has done so often lately.

We had a really wicked hailstorm yesterday, too. I had just finished painting over some graffiti on the exterior of the building. It was a heavy, steady white down pour for a good, long while. And afterwards the Olympics were a majestic, solemn blue.

Beautiful.

So I’m back to working 15-16 hour days.

Higher Self waves her finger.

“You said you wouldn’t rock the pendulum so heavily.”

“I know, I know. I already told you, I’m paying attention.”

And it’s working. I’m working. Better to be over-productive then under, right?

I realized last night, though, that essentially what I do is about every week or so, I take a day off from writing and plow through hours of side projects.

I’m giving my right-brain a breather, letting the left drive the machine. As an artist I was ashamed of my heavy left-brain capabilities for the longest time. Not anymore. I’ve grown to appreciate its strengths. It keeps me together. It’s like the parental guardian of my brain, stepping in when the right begins to spin out.

I think that’s where my love for balance truly comes into play.

Anyway, today it’s back to the drawing board. I’ve been working from the home office all week and I absolutely have to finish up some filing this morning, but then I think I’ll head to Zeitgeist for the afternoon. I’ve got two huge deadlines and it’s imperative I hammer them out.

Oh, and another thing I learned about myself yesterday: I can’t putty a whole in the wall to save my freaking life. In my defense, I substituted a ruler for the putty knife. But alas, I think it was all user-error. The more I tried, the worse it became. I finally gave in and painted over the awkward lump.

“Technically, it’s no longer a hole.”

I shared my non-feat with the cute, but not quite my type, lesbian cashier up at Madison Market. I had her and everyone in line laughing at my account. (It feels good to be entertaining others again.)

“Look on the bright side,” she said. “At least you’re not, like, an apartment manager or anything.”

“Exactly! I AM the apartment manger for our little 13-unit complex.”

Greater laughter erupted.

I’ll wrap up this little delight with some conversation that I lifted on my way back from the market.

I was passing a triad: two girls and a guy. Quite obviously, they were a ‘triad’ triad. The guy walked in the middle.

“So what was it you didn’t like about the giant black dildo? Too delicious?” he asked the girl to his left.

First off, the fact that anyone would use the term 'delicious' to describe a dildo is nothing short of a gift to my ears. Hell, I'd even put a bow on top.

And as luck would have it, it was right at ‘delicious’ that the four of us crossed paths.

A ridiculous smirk paraded across my face.

The three of them returned the smile.

“Sorry. Good ear candy.”

I love this neighborhood.