just clipping

This morning I stuffed my roommate's speakers into my backpack and rode my B.C.clayta up to campus. I was dying for somebody to stop me to ask what I had in my bag so I could tell them about my odd cargo.
No one stopped me.
The speakers were for an interview via Skype for our (D, C, and me) documentary project (the one on women who have struggled with postpartum mood disorders/depression). There were two highlights of the interview. One, she went to school with a couple of our professors here, back when the three of them made up the entire body of students studying documentary film. We got her to tell us stories about them and you know they were good because she kept checking with us, "You're not recording this part are you?" Secondly, she was candid. And she told us a story about how she became entirely not herself and her husband of only three years never balked. She was suddenly, six days after giving birth, not the woman he married. But he just loved her. You can imagine a flitter-flat thinker like me was inspired to waxed sappy over lunch today.

This afternoon I sat on stools in a bookstore with my sister looking at books about mixed media art projects while my brother-in-law updated us periodically on the time and the rain.

And then it hailed. I had forgotten there was such a thing as hail.

And then I was at a halloween party this evening--my costume was amazing, I felt like I could make headlines--and I looked around at the kid dressed as a Japanese tourist fiddling with the Ratatat-like playlist, the Mexican Panda Bear playing the moraccas, the mermade dancing solo in the middle of the room and I thought, "Gee, this is grand."

And I meant it.