July 13, 2015

Perhaps because of an early indoctrination with the concept of karma, be it swift or dilatory, despite my utter lack of even a cavity in all the years of my life, I have a morbid dread of losing teeth.

Every time I hit myself in the tooth with the rim of a glass it is always the same tooth and I cringe in appalled consternation, imagining the eventual crack and crumble when I inevitably hit it one time too many, for the last time. Whenever I eat sugar or drink soda, I have to swish my mouth with water afterward (regardless of whether or not this actually accomplishes anything whatsoever). And most nights I lie awake for several moments in an agony of guilt over the fact that I have not flossed that day and I am not going to floss that day either, because it would suck to get out of bed and do it.

The self awareness required to do a kind of good job with my teeth has the sleeper side effect of also making me painfully aware of the bad job I am doing, and because doing bad will always get you in the end (everyone raised in a moral based world of fact and fiction knows this), I am certain that one day I’ll wake up and it will all catch up with me and all of my teeth will rot and tumble out of my head all at once, and I will eat a tragic amount of applesauce and soup and and muse on the error of my ways for the rest of my life. And never get to have caramel apples.

Fortunately the bright light of progress shines the way to the future once more, and it is hopefully a far better future (mouth-wise, anyhow) than any of our ancestors have enjoyed. New teeth! New teeth for all who are weary and heavy burdened with serious dental issues!



I am

Wow, it turns out that I really like Jurassic 5. I had heard of them before, but their name made me assume that they would be like 5 For Fighting or 3rd Eye Blind or something and although I do appreciate that one (and only) 3rd Eye Blind song that I know whenever it comes on the radio randomly, I was just never very bothered about listening to them.

Lately some genius has been adding them consistently to the playlist at work and every time in the last few days I have checked to see what is the awesomeness that is playing currently, it has been Jurassic 5. This is the sort of music I would go dance to. This is the sort of music that deserves my movement. I know that is a weird thing to say, but that is what dancing to music is all about, right? A music hits you, and if it is good music, if it deserves a reply, your body has to respond. I have failed at dancing all my life because most dance music leaves me cold, my body refuses to acknowledge its rhythms, I am bored to leaving at worst and coerced into moving woodenly for as long as I can stand it at best. This is one of the reasons karaoke bars are my favorite – at least at karaoke bars you can depend on some level of diversity…and I am good at thrashing around to metal songs or swaying to Piano Man. At karaoke bars I am not limited to moving back and forth in the same several infinity loops and spirals of upper and lower body that are the only way my limbs and torso can interpret most dance or pop music. At karaoke bars sometimes I even get to conga to Dance Senora.

Anyhow. Someone explain to me what kind of music Jurassic 5 is. Because I love it and I long to clog my life with it.

enjoy tab

I am

I am among other things a creature of habit. Threats to my routine cause me to exist in survival mode until equilibrium is established, and my world once more squirts twin jets of calm and chaos into my days. Too much of one, and I get bored; too much of the other and I work myself into a state where all I am good for at the end of the day is a five hour Midsomer Murders marathon before exhausted sleep. What I crave most of all things is the rush and color of a lot to do, and the solitude and leisure to make up a new song to sing every morning as I dole out the catnip. Simultaneous-like.

I am also addicted to efficiency. I think this mostly stems from my need for the aforementioned balance of peace and plenty, as I am clever enough to know that the faster I get things done correctly the more time I will have for making up new nips songs and watching Midsomer murders; as Twain says, ‘get a lazy person to do a difficult job, because they will find an easy way of doing it.’

These two tidbits of Tabitha Trivia are brought to you today courtesy of the fact that as a creature of habit and an efficient lazy person, I tend to seek out the best and prettiest and quickest route to work, and, once it has been established, follow it every damn day of my life. Every so often a spirit of mad independence overtakes me and I go wandering off some different way unhindered by time or reason, and sometimes I go the long way in order to check on something special down another alley, but mostly I walk the same path back and forth each morning and evening. Add to all this the fact that because I am too lazy to work far from my home and too besotted with my neighborhood to live anywhere else, my daily walk has varied only slightly in the past three years. This means that I have made the same journey literally hundreds of times, and the result is that I am intimately acquainted with my surroundings every step of the way.

tree & friends

This is the heart of a tree that I have walked past most days for over three years. I first noticed something odd about it in the winter of 2012, and have been looking at it every time I pass it ever since.

For the first little while I was unsure of what I was seeing. Was it strange bark? Was it painted? What was it? I almost applied the crucial test of a fingertip or two, but I am a city girl in sense if not sensibility, and am suspicious of touching foreign plant life…so I refrained.

Eventually I began to suspect that it was a fungus, and when summer rolled around, I was proven correct. Every winter the blob is pure white, velvety soft looking, alluring. Every summer it browns with the heat and sun and eventually gets gross and smelly and slimy (looking – if I will not touch it in winter when it’s pretty there is no way I will touch it in the summer). Then apparently it crinkles up and a new start begins for a new autumn. Each of those crinkly brown bits at the top represent a year of growth.

Apart from fungus, I still have no idea what it is. I don’t know if the tree is bothered by it, or is strengthened by it, or is wholly indifferent to it.

I only know that I am impressed by its own adherence to a routine, and that I will continue to be interested in its movements for the rest of my life. Long after I cease to follow my route past it each day I will come back sometimes to check on it. And if it goes before me I will mourn it in passing, the way you do with a habit that was not of your initial making but has become important through repeated exposure.

I am

I am reading a great book right now called How To Fly A Horse, which I chose because it has a great title and I naturally want to know how to do that. The absolute best thing it has told me so far is that ‘if we are all standing on the shoulders of giants to see further than the ancients, then there are no giants.’

I love this. I love this because it is true, and because it proves yet again that Dr. Seuss is a genius as well as a humorist, and despite my thirty one years of this go-round, I now want to read Yertle the Turtle again.

It has been said of Shakespeare, (who may be a total hack), ‘was there any emotion, any experience, that this great man did not know?’

I feel exactly the same about Dr. Seuss.

I think about sneetches, star bellied and otherwise, every time I get into an argument that no one will win and which will never be resolved.

cowabunga turtle tower

I am




what's for dinner

obsession acceptance

fly on the moon





you & me

I am too a pretty princess

I am

Man I am turning into a caricature of myself. If I was in a young adult book, Encyclopedia Brown would divine that I was the culprit on the strength of a stray kleenex, or because someone overheard a series of staccato violent sneezes scuttling down the hidden passage away from the stabbed corpse.

All my life I have enjoyed my days (and my nights) allergy free. I have rested insolently on my laurels as family and friends suffered from hay fever and swollen eyes and what have you, and I have been untouched.

Now I sneeze in my lying down and in my rising up, and pretty much anytime I move my head all the time in between. I meant to try Zyrtec today (only the Walgreens kind so it is called Wal-Zyr. This bothers me. I think that Waltec sounds better) but I forgot. Le sniff.


I am

So I’ve spent the last year taking math classes.

This is not because of some undying love of or unquenchable yearning for math. This is because I am in this tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel there is a stupid piece of paper that will be immediately followed by a couple of other stupid pieces of paper, all of which will allow me to do what I want with my life and simultaneously have dollars, and the piece of paper at the end of the tunnel absolutely requires that I take a lot of math classes. (Also I put off all of the math classes until the very end of my degree because I hated math. And I was stupid).

Perhaps you have guessed by the fact that I am actually writing about it now that I have burst out the end of that math taking tunnel and have taken the last math class I will ever have to take in my entire life, unless I decide at some point that I want to take more math classes, for reasons currently unknown but not at all unimaginable. This is a good guess, and is totally accurate. I am done with math classes. I am done with math classes. I am done with math classes. But you know what? Against all probable odds, to the great confoundment of anyone who cares, not least myself, I am not done with math.

It turns out that I like math. It also turns out that I am good at math. I do not enjoy learning brand new math concepts at the rate of six new modules per week for over a year straight; but I do like math. I am not immediately very good at any math I learn at the rate of six new modules per week and at this point my brain feels like so many stacks of frail sheets of twice-done homework paper, but you know what? In the long run and after outlandish amounts of dumb raw unflinching effort, it turns out that I am good at math. And that I like math. And also that I am a completely different person in certain parts of my neurowiring.

So here is something that I like, that I find funny, in celebration of the fact that I can understand some math jokes now.


math can be funny sometimesI am


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