List of Important Stuff, or, Here’s Why It’s a Good Idea to Live Another Day

A brief return to the theme of my very first piece of writing here on the blog. Let’s write it down, inspired once again by the Master, Woody Allen.

This morning, let’s see. The reasons are as follows:

1.  Having a day job. Let’s face it, it’s not all a drag, and, with my disposition, I probably would be in the loony bin without some semblance of a routine that drags me out of the house a few times a week, to converse with others, and to realize that, even after this week’s horrible Planetary Newsflashes, day-to-day life does go on, and there are even some people who were quite oblivious to recent world events until I punched myself in yesterday, after numerous days off. And for once, that someone wasn’t me.

2.  Amy Hempel. Lorrie Moore. Lydia Davis. Et cetera et cetera.

3.  The fact that I slept well last night, and woke up remembering the meaning of “well rested”.

4.  Helene Schjerfbeck’s girls and women, and self-portraits.

5.  The growing heap of unread books on my bed stand. And on top of the drawer. And on the writing desk, behind my laptop.

6.  The fact that Twin Peaks: The Return only just started.

7.  I haven’t lost enough weight to fit into that gorgeous skirt I swore I’d fit into before the end of the summer.

8.  In Finland, the summer’s not even here yet.

9.  The fantastic three-course meal I had this week with my man at Restaurant Tampella, and how we discussed to have dinner there again in the fall, when the light is soft, and the autumn sun is once more reflected on the surface of Tammerkoski. The asparagus soup, the beef, the French toast for dessert. The old factory milieu, and the fact that my man had let his beard grow a little because he knows I love the feel of it, even though he himself hates the beard and thinks it makes him look a hundred years old.

10.       The way he looks when he is concentrating on packing, how his chin is so serious, and he wanders around the apartment, picking up stuff and leaving them in weird places, like in the bathroom, or on top of the hats and scarves in the hallway, before collecting them all together in the backpack.

11.       On my writing desk, I have a picture of myself as a little toddler, watering the blackcurrant bush in the front yard of my house with my grandfather. Every time I feel at a loss in my life, I always think of him, and what advice he might give me, and if he was proud of me at that moment.

12.       Paris. Always, always.

13.       The fact that it’s my friend Roberts’ birthday, today.

14.       This little conversation I had last night, riding the bus home after work:

- Do you mind that I sit here?

- No, no, but I have to apologize right away for smelling like fuel oil. I’m just off work.

- It’s quite alright, me too. I smell like popcorn.

- Popcorn isn’t a bad smell at all.

- I know. But if you smelled like it every night.

- I see what you mean.

- So, we’re gonna be the passengers who smelled, tonight.

- Okay. (Laughter.)

15.       I’m too much in love with this craft, with my beloved, and my family and friends, and, a true writer, with myself, to give in. I’m going to stay until I’m manhandled out, until the end credits have rolled all the way through, and a little longer still, in case there is a really good cliffhanger after. Also, I like just got my hair cut, and what a waste of money that would be.