I am not disposable.

I am not an accessory.

I cannot be tucked away when I don’t “go” with the outfit du jour.

I cannot be stored out of sight when I am not wanted.

My purpose is not to make you look good.

My purpose is not to make you feel good about yourself.

I cannot be walked all over, nor can I be used to walk over others.

I cannot get you where you need to go.

I am not fashionable, nor do I ever go out of style.

I like this idea. I don’t know how to incorporate it into my workplace yet, but it’s a fun thought.

Running Business As Usual For Vail Women - Denver News Story - KMGH Denver.

Treadmill Desk: Treadmill Desk: Lose 57 lbs in One Year…Really!.

I had this idea today to draw a chart of a few of my favorite composers of musicals. This is a work in progress.

I’m wondering lately if some of my friends aren’t going through a late-twenties quarterlife crisis. My life has changed dramatically in the months surrounding my 30th birthday. While I feel as though I’ve made it through the worst of it, there are certainly some items from the article that ring true either to me personally or based on observations I’ve made of others:

This is that futuristic looking house in the mountains that you can see from I-70.

“Sleeper” House is sold at foreclosure auction - The Denver Post.

You’ll need Safari or another HTML5 capable browser to hear the music:

03-Blow-Blow-Thou-Winter-Wind.m4a

Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.

This morning as I awoke, the song in my head was a haunting and beautiful melody from an operetta film called Les Parapluies de Cherbourg:

Si ça prend une éternité, je vais attendre pour vous
Pour un millier d’étés, je vais attendre pour vous
‘Til vous êtes de retour à côté de moi, jusqu’à ce que je te tiens
Jusqu’à ce que je vous entendre soupirer ici dans mes bras

Alone again I am in my heart. I will miss the warmth of her touch, her smile, her laugh. So many little things that I cannot describe them all in great enough detail here or ever with words. She understood me on a level that few others ever have or ever will. And forever to me will that single capital letter K spell out so much more in my heart that I deign not to use it otherwise.

How many tears are enough? How much sorrow is enough?

I have no answers.