Today Gabe is wearing a white t-shirt, red shorts, and brown flip flops.
Last fall, when we were running the Spark Notebook Kickstarter, I spent days upon days on Twitter. We would tweet at people who were tweeting about other planners, and say, “Hey! I saw your tweet about ___ and thought you might like this project too!” and then link them to our Kickstarter.
When we first started, I was terrified I’d get a barrage of replies being like, “Hey stop spamming me.”
But do you want to know something crazy?
No one ever said that. There were maybe three people who replied saying, “Aren’t you worried people will think this is spam?”. And then I’d write back and say, honestly, “Most people just seem to either ignore it or be excited to have been alerted to a project they really do like.” And then those people would write back and say, basically, “Oh okay, carry on.”
So the consequence I thought would occur from spending all day on Twitter didn’t occur.
But a different consequence did occur. And that consequence was that I lost my mind.
There is something crazy-making about copy-pasting the same phrase over and over into a Twitter box for several hours a day. It’s boring, but demands your attention. You can do it while listening to an audiobook or watching TV, but you can’t totally engage with the other thing.
And it is completely, overwhelmingly, unstoppably addictive.
Even after 4 hours of tweeting while watching Law and Order, with my eyes drooping and my legs screaming for me to move them and take my body outside, I would think, “Okay, well I’ll just clear this page and then I’ll go.”
So I would clear the page, scroll down to reveal a new list of names, and think, “Okay, well I’ll just clear this page and then I’ll go.”
Is this what it feels like to be a robot? If so, then I don’t blame them for always taking over in those movies and books where robots take over. I wouldn’t want to be a robot either.
Anyways, we are selling the Spark Notebook again. The print run is happening next month and they’ll be delivered in June. But final orders are due in next week, which means I’m back on Twitter. Always. And forever. Every second of every day, until next Tuesday.
If you want to buy one, the email alerts I get telling me that there’s been another sale are basically the only punctuation during days of tweeting and law-and-order-solving and listening to the new Jon Ronson book that I actually listened to in less than 24 hours because it was so good and, like, what else was I going to do? But that’s not important.
What’s important is that I am losing my mind, but there is an end in sight. Oh, and then there’s this picture of Romeo from Easter which is great:
Today Gabe is wearing a blue sweatshirt, khaki pants, and brown boots.
The other day we visited a friend who has 30 chickens, 1 duck, 2 dogs, and 1 horse (pictured). I wanted very badly to touch one of the chickens, but every time I approached a docile-looking one, it would flap its wings, creating a cloud of dust, and run away just out of reach.
“Simone!” I called out to the duck, taking one cautious step towards it, and then another. Simone scream-quacked and waddled away.
I don’t have good luck approaching barnyard animals. With one notable exception, aka the greatest day of my life when I touched a cow’s nose. I love animals, and I *get* cats and dogs. They like me and I like them.
But these barnyard animals…well, I guess I just don’t have the right confidence to just grab a chicken by the gut and hoist it into my arms. And so they run away from me. And I chase them. And they run some more.
Not giving up, I walked directly into the chicken coop hoping to corner one of the dumber ones and try to touch its feathers. It was only after I’d crossed the entire length of the chicken-feed-and-droppings-covered floor of the coop that I realized I was wearing my favorite loafers.
…And now I just don’t know what to do!
I was so blinded by my love for animals that I ruined one of my other great loves – really good loafers.
They didn’t get irreparably dirty, but the bottoms were gross. I rinsed them off, and I scrubbed them on the grass and then again on my rough, scratchy doormat. But still, I can’t forget the gross place that they walked through.
Is it possible to forgive (myself) and forget what these loafers have been through? Or do I need to admit that I might never feel comfortable putting these on my carpet again, and just do the humane thing and throw them away for good?
When I finally got to the other side of the coop, all the chickens wised up and crossed back to the entrance of the coop I had just come through. On my way back across the muck, dejected, I noticed something funny:
Did you know chickens perch?
I had no idea. But as it turns out, they do, and these chickens were perched right up around eye level, looking at me.
Whether they realized in that moment that they were trapped or not, I don’t know. But I do know that I stepped over to them, stuck out my hand, and petted each of them, feeling their weird soft, slippery feathers.
They bobbed and waddled, but they allowed it.
And it almost made up for my shoes continuing to sink down into the worst place they have ever been.
This week, I’ve been listening to audiobooks: I finished Agatha Christie’s ABC Murders and am getting close to finishing Dale Carnegie’s How To Win Friends And Influence People.
I got an Audible subscription so that I could listen to business books, but it has been really nice to have things that aren’t work-related to listen to since I do most of my audio-listening at times where I am actively trying to avoid work-related thinking (like on an afternoon walk).
Unfortunately, I don’t have any good ideas for what to listen to next. Any suggestions? What are you reading right now?
I, and my tainted loafers (who used to accompany me on many-a long afternoon walk, and may still – or may never again), thank you in advance.