Or someone who knows how to spell beatnic.

Also, since some friends asked me to go out earlier today and I had no costume at all, this was easy to put together last minute. Not nearly as impressive as the bat or lobster or Rufio (from Hook) or Japanese River Goblin that I hung out with tonight, but it would have to do. It’s strange, the past two Halloweens I have been in Canada. I am not gonna write anymore about that other than, well, that’s something.

Oh, and I recorded a cover tonight. You’ll totally recognize it. And it kind of fits me right now…not like a glove, but maybe like a loose-fitting sock. I feel a little in-between sometimes. A little displaced. I don’t mean to feel this way, because I know that This Is Life, no matter what–and I try to make sure that I dig into each day like it’s worth something. Because it is. It’s worth not rushing and not hurrying up and trying to find out what’s next simply because what’s now makes me feel a little uncomfortable. Or something. Anyway, I had fun recording this song. Maybe I’ll play it at a show I’ve got coming up.

Here it is (as always, there’s a pause in the beginning cause I have to run from the back of the church to the front after pressing record. Oh, and I totally recorded the song in my russian spy outfit):

(sittin on) the dock of the bay

You know, in the mountains.

And I passed that sign again–the one about the mountain lions that hunt in the area. Okay, so it didn’t say hunt, but that was the point. And then I read that you shouldn’t hike alone and I thought, Ohhhhh shoot. Cause I was totally alone.

And then I abruptly turned around and headed back to my family’s house. Where there aren’t mountain lions and where I am not alone. But I didn’t get there before every little squirrel that happened by scared me, cause I was sure that it was something not nearly so innocuous.

I usually pride myself on not feeling very afraid of nature, but it seems you hear enough about the folk singer getting eaten by coyotes in Canada and the little twin babies getting mauled by a fox in Britain and the lady getting struck by lightening and killed in North Carolina, and suddenly my imagination goes a little wild when I’m by myself and outside.

Not head dance wild, but wild, nonetheless.

Anyway.

Today was the kind of day that is gonna make me sleep and sleep right well tonight.

We went to the beach and the weather! oh, it was divine. The sun was not shy at all and there was a slight breeze and enough warm sand to keep you from being cold. Especially when a small boy accidentally dumps a whole shovel-full of sand right on your head. Just like you are simply the beach and a little bit more sand moved around when there’s already tons there is no big deal. But instead you are a person and now your scalp is covered in enough sand to make you wonder if you should perhaps suggest that some people park their umbrella right here, right on your noggin, should the beach get too crowded.

But really, it was just funny. And gave me even more incentive to get in that water. Which I did, along with my boogie-boarding peers, Jase and Lyric.

And man, was it fun.

And man, does a wetsuit really make a difference in terms of actually being able to stay and enjoy the ocean cause look! my teeth aren’t chattering and oh! I can feel my legs and haven’t yet lost a toe from frostbite.

We caught some glorious waves and were not caught by any glorious sharks, so win win.

For us, though. Probably not the sharks.

And then we went riding around on bikes, which was, in plain old English, a blast.

Except for the part when a lot of people around here see the words BIKE PATH and, though they have no bike at all, proceed to stroll on it. Luckily Jenna was with us and she has no problem at all with reminding them of the meaning of those two words; that there’s a lot of beach all around that is perfectly useful for walking on, whereas bikes really cannot ride on the sand, so please–MOVE.

But really, it was lovely.

And you’re probably thinking, whoa! that sounds like an amazing day. The only thing that could make it any better is a monkey…

And you’re right.

Which is why, upon my brother’s urging (and funding, I may add), I decided to shake a monkey’s hand on the Santa Monica Promenade. Again. I had already done this magical thing once before, but when it comes to shaking this monkey’s hand–once is never enough.

Trust me.

But don’t take my word for it–take a look for yourself.

monkey!

*and please pay no mind to the fact that I am dressed like a wannabe ninja, thankyouverymuch.

**and please DO pay mind to the fact that the monkey tips his hat after he shakes my hand. Adorable.

And some of it is spelled T-A-X-E-S.

And some of it is spelled D-I-V-O-R-C-E.

And some of it is even spelled E-S-T-H-E-R. Um, lest you think that Esther is some chick that I need to do, let me explain.  I am referring to the rest of the music I need to write to go along with the script that my brother Jason has written for the church Easter musical.

But I took a bath tonight and it’s like all my energy went with the water once I unstopped the drain. Seriously, I was so tired that I didn’t even bother putting lotion on before hopping right into bed. And I’ve got the kind of dry skin that is at such a deficit that even a whole bottle of lotion would leave me still not quite as soft and silky as the average Joe. And there’s Joe with his nice and smooth skin and hardly even caring that it is, anyway; and here’s me with my skin that was only soft once in my whole life and that was the time that I almost died in bikram yoga, it was so hot and humid in there–and tell me, is this fair?

But then there are the small comforts that seem to leap out at you. Especially when you are tired. You know, finding a pair of clean and matching socks without even scouring your room for them.

And then there’s tonight when I reached into my underwear drawer and right there, sitting pretty at the top of the pile, was one of my absolute favorite pair to wear. Yellow and soft and huh, I wonder if this is TMI…oh well, it’s not like I’m saying it’s a thong or anything like that.

But despite that rush of extreme tiredness that about knocked me over, I smiled. And felt just a little bit happier. And I wonder how it is in a world where such horrifying things have recently happened to me,  effectively causing me to stop caring about most things, that I am now reduced to feeling happier because of some underwear. Or maybe it’s not reduced, maybe it’s that I am feeling a little better. And able to appreciate some details again–which is so different from just not caring.

Cause seriously, I had stopped caring. I’m sorry, but it’s true. When that horrid earthquake devastated Haiti it was hard to drum up a lot of feeling at all. I guess I was so busy taking inventory of my own self, wondering if there were any survivors deep inside, listening for some sounds of life, that I just couldn’t bring myself to think much about whatever was happening on the other side of the world. And don’t quote me on that–the other side of the world, I mean–I am admittedly bad at geography.

Haiti might very well be somewhere in Canada.

Okay, so I’m not that bad at geography. But pretty bad. Just today a dear friend and I were laughing about how, when we were growing up as some of the coolest home schoolers around, the subject of geography was covered by a silly little game called geosafari. I guess our moms just thought that fifteen minutes of that every few days oughtta do it. And if the fact that I recently asked a friend if Kentucky borders Pennsylvania doesn’t prove that little theory flat out wrong, I’m not sure what does. In my defense, however, I had heard someone say the word Pennsyltucky and so concluded that must mean that those two states touch at some point.

Oh, but they don’t. Just to be clear.

And yes, heart wrenching things have gone on and are continuing to go on, but there it is: a pair of underwear makes me happy. Or at least happier. And I don’t know quite what that says about the world and I don’t know quite what that says about me, but well, I’m grateful to be wearing one of my favorite pair of underwear.

I guess I’ll leave it at that tonight.

Like the color of your eyes.

But a secret.
It’s powerful.
It’s the only key to a lock that’s otherwise fast.

And you can’t take it back.

So what do you do when you remember all the secrets that he knows? All the tiny cracks that, slowly, you allowed to crumble the wall known as Boundaries that generally exists between two people. Until you are known, fully known, and you’re mesmerized by it. Caught up in the closeness of it all; the way that he knows just how to wake you up in the morning perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that you often feigned sleep when you heard him come home from work, just so that he would wake you up again.

But you can’t take it back.

You can’t take back the way that you were a garden enclosed. That when you’d let him in, there were no signs of breaking and entering; but by the time he left, the flowers had stopped blooming and the dandelions that had grown up in droves were a poor consolation prize.

But at least they were yellow, I guess.

And you try to make yourself feel better by saying that maybe he didn’t really know you because how could he walk away so resolutely after knowing you so intimately? But he did. He knew you because that’s all you knew to do: Let him in.

Let him invade your self until all of the facets of love–romance, sex, laughter, mystery, rolling out of bed in the morning with nothing but your honest self to present to each other–they were all synonymous with his name.

And you didn’t know how dangerous that could be.

And you’re grateful that life is a secret that continues to unfold and you feel a little safer each day because you’re not giving them away so easily anymore. And you’re certainly not giving them away to him.

But that is still a little surprising, I guess.

And still comes across in the details.

I guess it was during the final weeks of tour when I started getting into texting with multiple letttttttters for emphasis. Or when I was excited I’d do this!!!!!!!!! Or when I was confused, I’d be like????????? Cause sometimes one is just never enough.

And I’d let people know that I misssssss them!!!!!! And I’d ask them if they were readddddddddy tooooo rummmmmble??????? Well, really only to my brother, Jason. And when it was appropriate, of course.

But I guess Drew missed all that. I couldn’t text with my phone in Canada, but my brother Josh showed me how to do it through my gmail. So I excitedly sent out texts to my brothers, sister, mom, and Drew–but well, everyone but one responded. And no, it wasn’t my brothers, it wasn’t my mom, and it wasn’t my sister who didn’t respond. And the thing about the gmail texts is that, once you send three texts without a response, they won’t let you send any more. I guess they figure that whoever you’re sending them to just isn’t interested.

And yes, the irony isn’t lost on me.

And then once I got back…Well, we haven’t texted much other than business.

But I still let a few multiple question marks slip in.

Which is what prompted Drew to ask me, Why all the ???

And then I realized, it’s the beginning of him not knowing me so well anymore. The beginning of me not quite letting my personality be seen so clearly by him.

Cause you know, I am totally summed up in lots of !!!!!! and ????? and the way that I use tooooooo many letters in succession sometimes.

That’s a definite glimpse into my soul.

But in all seriousness, it struck me when he had to ask me about the way that I text. He never used to have to ask before; now he does.

That says something.