A Gym/Cookie Story

A few years ago, I was a middle-of-the-night regular at my local gym. I worked out for many months, and in that January, I saw a WHOLE big bunch of Facebook whining about all the newbies who show up to the gym in January, working on resolutions. A lot of folks kept saying they couldn't wait for the resolution-people to drop out, so the gym would go back to normal.

At the time, I didn't really understand it (going in the middle of the nights meant I got the place pretty much to myself), but for the past few weeks, I totally get it. Except for me, it hasn't been about the gym. It's been about the baking aisle in the grocery store.

I bake a lot (and cook sometimes, too, when I want to test if the fire alarm is working) and every grocery trip has me wandering down the baking aisle looking for something. And like a gym at 1:00 am, the baking aisle throughout the year is pretty empty. Except from about Thanksgiving through Christmas. Suddenly I'm dodging all these people who look terrified and are anxiously comparing different types of molasses, hovering between the two racks of spices, and nervously poking different pie crusts.

And much like the old lady I will be one day, I get annoyed at navigating all the people in my aisle and I think about running them over with my cart. But then I realize that in another two weeks, they won't be baking any more and will go back to the other aisles and I can grab my evaporated milk, flour, molasses, and powered ginger in peace. (FYI: I'm making more cookies today for a fundraiser.)

So yeah, we all have little parts of the world carved out as ours and sometimes a whole big bunch of nervous folks show up in that part. And we can help them, we can ignore them, or we can whack them with our carts.

Moral of today's story: the world is a strange place and my coffee is empty.

An Erinku:

various to-do lists

for today

at least agree

on cookies

Dreaming

I woke up from a particularly beautiful dream today. As I woke up more, I could feel the dream fading away. I sat there until it was all gone and I couldn't remember a thing. It reminded me of those folks who paint pictures with water that gradually fade away or those monks who create beautiful sand "paintings" and then blow them away when they are finished.

I'm not sure if my dream was as pretty as a sand painting, since I don't take pictures of those sand paintings (why should I keep a picture of it around if the artists themselves are destroying it?) and I can't remember the dream at all. While I can't keep everything wonderful in life around, I can keep the experience of it and remember what I can.

I suppose that, ultimately, my whole life is like one of those sand paintings. And that's kind of beautiful.

An Erinku:
it's late enough in the year
for sun to shine
through my happy
yellow curtains

Mysteries

While there's been a whole long list of things I haven't been able to do the past three weeks, one of things I could do was "fuzzy thinking." That's where  you are on cold medicine and in-between sleep comas, you start thinking of unrelated things. Usually it's pretty funny and I often do "fuzzy thinking" each morning before coffee, so this wasn't a new thing.

One of the topics is: there is only one Irish bar. Oh, you may think you're walking into O'Doherty's in Spokane or Katie Mullen's in Denver, or some random pub in New York, but no. It's all the same bar with many different doors.

When I was in the Czech Republic this summer, one day I was completely freaked out. I was lost, my Czech is terrible and as I rounded a corner, I ran into the one Irish pub. Same dim lights. Same wooden bar. Same soccer games on t.v. narrated in English. Same cute bartender with the slightest hint of an accent (the gender of the cute bartender seems to be based on what you like....I always get a cute guy while other folks always get a cute girl). I sat down and had some of the same Irish beer on tap and got diretions back to my group.

No matter where you are in the world, when you are lost and confused and uncomfortable, around the next corner that pub will be there. Full of potatoes and beer. Yet no one ever seems to notice that it's always the same pub. Mysteries.

Another topic is: no matter how large a stage is, there is always some uneasiness between the cellos and violas about space. This happens every. single. time. Even in a quartet performance, where four people are on the stage. Somehow the cellist and violist enter into each other's bubble and we end up needing to shift our chairs around.

It happened last night during the orchestra concert. The stage was quite large, but throughout the whole concert all the cellists and violists kept shifting around. I know we take up large amounts of space (and we SO aren't welcome back near the basses who take up the most...they always have strong boundaries). I just enjoy very much the constant ebb and flow of chair shifting and how I've performed concerts on large stages with far less elbow room than I've had in tiny little pit orchestras. Mysteries.

And to round out this little blog of fuzzy thinking, a third topic is: Legs. I was sitting somewhere recently waiting for someone (I don't remember details because of fuzzy thinking) and due to a big sign in the way, I could only see folks from the knees down. I sat for a while trying to guess which pair of knees was my friend and I realized that I haven't had to do this sort of identification since I was like 5 or 6. When you are super little, you know what pants your parents wear each day and what shoes they have on, because that's what you see.

It turns out that I'm no longer very good at knee identification. But little kids are. That's not really a mystery, just good observation.

And these are just three bits of fuzzy thinking I've done the past three weeks. However, I'm on all sorts of kick-ass medicine and am feeling more real each day. One awesome thing is that I'm currently finding just about everything funny. The theory is that laughing would make me have an overly dramatically annoying coughing fit and that I was pretty stupid with cold medicine and neither of these things is fun. Now (finally) my sense of humor is coming back on line. I've been assured that I'm not at my "pre-sick level of funny, but you'll get back there. Maybe." and I retorted that he "just wasn't laughing at the right laughter level in response to my jokes." Mysteries.

An Erinku (medicated):

When medical folk ask

what medicines I'm on

I make up names - I can't remember (Morkabloxin? Carpadercin? Hellamedicine?)

They sigh and look it up themselves

A short story about Laurel*

I know a girl named Laurel* (*not her real name). She goes through life in a state of contradiction. On one hand, she claims to be a militant feminist; on the other, she seems to have to have every man near her be in love in with her in order for her to function. Her goal is to be inspirational, yet, she is profoundly pathetic.

Due to her dramatic life and her inappropriate impositions on me (in addition to scores of bad stories I have been written into with her), she hasn't been my friend, Facebook or otherwise, for over three years now. (By the way, thanks to my mom, Lance, and Jory on the intervention to drop her!) It's strange how many people I know that are fighting the feminist cause...but sometimes, some folks' fights really aren't helping.

I don't miss her and her dramatic nonsense. I think if you are working to better humankind, you should at least try to be a good human. It's something I work on constantly and frequently fall short on...possibly including this snarky post about her. So it goes.

And while it sometimes isn't pleasant to be a woman, there are unpleasant things about being a man, too. So overall, it's best to try and be a good person, regardless of your gender(s). And that is the moral of an Erin after several weeks of insanity at the day job and feeling cranky about my past.

Moral of today's story: typing with BBC in the background doesn't make you smarter...it just makes you more distracted.

An Erinku! (In possible judginess):

there is

an orange exercise ball

in my front room.

I have ricocheted, repeatedly, off it.

Big City / Small Town

I've bounced between small towns and big cities. The smallest had just over 17,000 folks living there (pretty big compared to some small towns) and the largest has 2.5 million people. One of the wee towns I daydream about living in only has 9,614 people in it, currently.

I find then whenever I'm in a smaller town, I start to get antsy-pantsy about all the things I'm missing in the city. While in the city, I get so distracted running around adventuring that it takes a long time to realize the things I miss about living in small towns. Which is why I head northwest in the summertime weekends to the little town festivals to visit my friends who live there.

It takes me a while to get used to things at these events. Such as being able to find parking. It's always free and the furthest you have to walk is maybe two blocks. No awkward navigating; no swearing while parallel parking on the left-hand side of the road (who decided that should even be an option, anyway?); and no 24-hour parking meters that charge $2 an hour.

It turns out that I'm pretty bitchy for the first little while. Because I forget that in small towns, the music is going to be at the goodness-level that it's at. Sometimes it's pretty bad, but sometimes it's surprisingly awesome. Big cities get a lot of world-class artists coming through...and they tend to pop around only in big cities.

I have to get re-used to the idea that no one else is giggling about the singer dorkily bouncing around on stage in a silly way. And that people in the audience are wearing their cowboy boots and tie-dye shirts non-ironically. And that people dance around because they like the music and it's ok to dance around, since no one should be being an ass-hat and judging them.

This is just something I noticed tonight as I started off the evening snickering meanly about something. Luckily, no one at my table heard me and I caught myself. Because while I am living the big city life of locking all of my doors all the time, avoiding the sketchy parts of town, and being wary of creepy strangers who follow me, wearing that mantle of suspicion and judgement doesn't work all the time.

Just like meeting people from New York. When acting like a New Yorker out of context (which, dear New Yorkers, is EVERYWHERE ELSE on the frickin' planet!), you are acting like an ass-hat. However, New Yorkers make sense in New York. Big-city Erin makes sense living in a big city. Small-town Erin makes sense in a small town. And both of these parts of me have funny transitions between the two, such as looking both ways before crossing a one-way street downtown.

There isn't a moral, or even a point to my story today. Just that there are good things about all the cities you find yourself in. I've lived in a big city for three years now and I miss a lot of things about smaller towns. Especially not having to parallel park on the left side of the street. Sheesh.

An Erinku:

some days

Denver

smells like

a soggy BBQ potato chip

Relationship Advice

It’s that time of year where a bunch of folks are getting married and I get invited to a bunch of bridal showers and girl-times. And as a person who has been around the block, relationship-wise, I often get asked for nuggets of wisdom on how to navigate life as part of a couple. And for those folks who got terribly bitter and cynical nuggets of wisdom from me over the past few years, again I’m so sorry. Asking for relationship advice from a person whose life is falling apart is like asking for a band-aid for your papercut from someone who is still bleeding from losing their arm. So, yeah. I’ve not been particularly helpful and if I’ve been quiet during these bridal events, just be glad that I wasn’t offering suggestions.

My first instinct is still to put such “advice” in the negative, and since I've got a bridal party this upcoming weekend, I've been thinking of how to put it in a positive way. Here’s what I've got so far:

• Know your limits. Some things you can (and will need to) live with in a relationship. Other things, you can’t. Don’t try to talk yourself into those things that you can’t live with. There is a difference between being picky and running into a deal-breaker. And talking yourself into ignoring a deal-breaker is offending to the relationship and is terribly offensive to your own self. The consequences will catch up to you and the lack of respect for your partner and for yourself will be huge.
• You will “what if” about other people. It’s normal and natural and absolutely doesn't mean anything. Try this: open a random catalog and look at one page until there is something shown that you really want. To want things is to be alive. You lived without that thing before you opened the catalog and being attracted to someone cute is the exact same thing. It’s the eternal “want!” So. Before you wreck everything you have with someone, ask yourself if this “want” you are feeling for someone else is really something important, or if you just flipped to that page in a catalog. Not all wanting is important, nor does it always mean something.
• Relationships are work (true) but there should also be some fun (also true). If you are struggling non-stop to make things work, it might be that things just aren't going to work out. To fundamentally change who you are to fit in a relationship isn't right. Just like how Cinderella’s sister chopped off her toes to fit in the glass slipper, you need to ask yourself if it’s really worth it. There should be good times to offset the bad. This isn't to be confused with going through a rough patch (which can last a while) and it’s tricky to see the difference when you are right in the middle of it all. Just pay attention to how often you have fun together.
• Don’t underestimate counseling. People are living a long, long time. And that’s a long, long time to put up with your partner’s quirks. And life will be good to you and then life will kick your ass. It’s good to know you have someone on your side. And sometimes issues become too big to deal with on your own, and that is why there are counselors. They’ll listen to your version of your battles, they’ll point out what the core problems really are (it’s very rarely only about who’s turn it is to do dishes), and they’ll walk you through ways of working together.
• You will compromise. And you’ll be pissed about it. But that’s how things go. You can’t get everything your way all the time. And if you do, you’ll probably turn into an entitled little jack-ass that no one wants to hang out with, anyway. So pick your battles.

Shesh. These actually aren't so positive. I think most bridal party things want to hear about butterflies and rainbows. So I may be a little on the quiet side again this weekend. But that’s what you get after getting smacked around by life for a while. At least there will be cake!

An Erinku:

air conditioner on

because

I warmed up the apartment

with my energetic dancing

oops

Bodies are cool

At my eye doctor yesterday, they took their annual photo of my eyeballs. They have a cool machine that you stare into, and it's high-tech enough to focus its camera lens to aim through your pupil to take a picture of the inside to make sure things are ok. While the pictures are kinda neat (surprisingly, not creepy or gross), nothing on mine has changed over the years...which is a good thing.

So when the doctor paused and said, "Do you see that little white dot right there? How it looks like a camera error?" and I saw it. And it was on all the different pictures over the years. I started to look alarmed and he said, "That's a freckle. Well, a reverse freckle. See how on your arms you have brown freckles and what look like white freckles? Those are reverse freckles, where you've got areas of low melanin. And the same pigments that make you all freckled on your arms are really on all of you. Even your eyes have freckles." 

So all those spots I thought were from chicken pox scars? Not necessarily! And it just proves what the super-drunk guy years ago said to me, "Hey.....   I bet you have freckles ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL over your body!" Bodies are cool.

An Erinku:

Reverse freckles

would be

an awesome band name

Witness for the prosecution

So. Imagine that you have had a day where you went six sad hours between your first and second cups of coffee, managed to flash some thigh at the coffee shop because your new skirt is all stupid and static-y, spent the whole day wandering through the world on tall, wobbly shoes and then managed to get splashed with icky road-water on your walk home. In an alley. Which means it was really icky alley-water. Behind a frat house. Which makes it that much more icky.

And the car was going just under 800 miles an hour down this alley that I need to walk in because my sidewalk is currently blocked off due to construction of a 400-story-tall skyscraper apartment complex. It could be I've exaggerated some points of this paragraph.

As I got icky alley-water splashed all on me, I made hand gestures that implied things. Things like, "ARGH!" and "WHY ARE YOU DRIVING 800 MILES AN HOUR DOWN AN ALLEY? There are TWO perfectly good streets about 100 feet in either direction!" and "I'm precariously balanced on these tall, wobbly shoes or else I'd chuck my lunch bag at you, jerk!"

Having watched my share of Law & Order, I noted the car and its license plate number. So. If I find a black car with Colorado license plates, they'd better look out. Because it turns out I'm a real person with a short attention span and not someone who is a good witness after getting splashed. I remember the car is black and has Colorado license plates. Very helpful. I'm fine, my new skirt will be fine, and I should have totally chucked my squishy lunch bag at that car. That would have been awesome.

Moral of today's story: I could probably get free coffee with strategic skirt static. Or a lot more embarrassment. 

An Erinku (like hopscotch, but not):
My shoes
aren't that tall and wobbly.
That would be me,
still new to having feet.

Where I go off about Anna Karenina

Every few years, I re-read Anna Karenina because I read fast and I've read every book in my place at least twice. And each time I read this book by Tolstoy (warning: there are going to be spoilers because this book came out in 1877), I identify with a different character. Most of this is due to Tolstoy's writing, making most the characters act like real people, and some of it has to do with me being a human and growing and changing in between readings.

The one character I simply can't stand is Kitty. The first time I read this book, back in high school I think, she struck me as a spoiled, entitled little princess. Spoiler: everyone in Russia in the 1800's was either a prince or a princess of some place, so she really, truly was a princess. I have never once felt bad for her, while I do feel bad for the guy she eventually marries. Because she's spoiled, expects every man around to be madly in love with her all the time, and never seems to become more than a flat character...in spite of Tolstoy pretending that she's great, caring, and self-less in a sick room.

This most recent re-reading, I started with an open mind, knowing that Kitty bugged me in the past, and yet again I was irked by her within the first two pages of her introduction. There are characters you are supposed to not like and most of those are peripheral characters (hooray). Even if you don't like Mr. Karenin, you do feel sorry for him because he's in a tight spot and getting conflicting advice from everyone and is acting like an ass periodically. But Kitty is a major enough character that she just keeps showing up and pouting through various chapters.

All of this is just an early-morning rant because I haven't had coffee yet and I'm half-way through the book. I've known people in real life called Kitty and they are always awesome. And I like cats and kittens and kitties. It's just this Princess Ekaterina Alexandrovna Shcherbatskaya ("Kitty") who drives me up the wall.

Oh look! My coffee's ready!!!!

An Erinku (returning to the 21st century):

Today is a day

for running in sunshine

for getting new walking shoes

for an afternoon in a coffeeshop

Golden Glue

A few weeks ago, I was in a conversation where I mentioned that I find “broken” people to be more interesting and that I could relate to them better. In contrast, I said that people who were “whole” (often in their 20’s) were too blindingly radiant to talk to. That same night, I saw a few Facebook posts about Kintsugi. That’s the Japanese art of mending broken things with gold. The idea is that instead of hiding the cracks and brokenness, you celebrate and make it beautiful.

This stuck with me as I've been reflecting on my last few years. Yes, I've been full of whininess, but I’m also finally patched back together in a semblance of real person moving on with her 30’s. One thing that has been weighing on me is that my “dark side” or “shadow self” had broken along with the regular me, and the gluing-back-together process wasn't as clean as a regular puzzle.

It’s good, I guess, that parts of my darkest side are wandering the daylight hours with me, like a mosaic, but it sure is unsettling. I suppose that it’s ultimately healthier to be all of me at once, yet I've become more secluded since I’m not sure how this “new” composite me does in various situations. Shadow Erin doesn't trust easily (and never has), is overly cynical, and is also strong enough to say “no” to things that regular me would feel pressured to say “yes” to. So, the good is mixed with the bad, in the micro and macro sense.

Also, in the past few weeks, I've been told by a few people that I don’t dream big enough and don’t seem to have any forward momentum. I was offended for a few days, until this occurred to me: anyone stuck in a big storm at sea is wishing for solid land with all of their being. To the folks on land, this seems like a small, stupid dream. To the girl at sea, it’s a dream that glows with golden promise. Don’t diss other people’s dreams. You don’t know how out to sea they might be.

An Erinku:

For each

episode of terrible 90’s tv

I have to bounce, dance, or walk the whole time it’s on.

Goodness out of badness!

Forgiveness? Psh.

Today, I read an article about forgiveness. The author took the unusual stance that, sometimes, it’s just fine if you don’t want to forgive. His friend was murdered and he was startled that the person officiating the funeral (several days later) urged everyone to forgive and move on with their lives. The author, having less than a week to deal with the grief of losing someone, let alone making sense of the violence surrounding the death, essentially said, “no!”

He brought up the point that our culture seems to have the idea that everyone needs to forgive to be healthy. It’s something I've thought a lot about in the last few years, too. My dramas were much less violent than murder (while slightly involving death), but my drama-traumas were a big deal to me. I still haven’t forgiven. I've wrestled with the idea of forgiving everyone and have had a lot of pressure from a variety of sources to do so. But I find that forgiveness, much like growing taller, happens to everyone at different rates. And sometimes doesn't happen as much as you might have imagined.

Hmm. That actually isn't a great analogy. It’s not that people who don’t forgive are somehow stunted. It’s more like setting good boundaries. Sometimes people do horrible, ass-hat-like things to you, and you can still be an awesome person without forgiving the ass-hats. You can even unfriend them all on Facebook and still be an awesome person, in spite of what mutual friends might say.

Bah. All it comes down to is this: people deal with what they are dealing with as fast as they can. If you are holding your breath to be forgiven for acting like an ass-hat, you need to know that it’s about the other person, not about you. You might not ever be forgiven. And you need to learn to live with that and try not to be an ass-hat in the future. As for me, I have wrestled mightily with blame (of myself and of others) and of hate (also of self and of others) and I’m at peace with my choice to not forgive some people.

Here’s a link to the article, if you’re so inclined: http://www.slate.com/articles/life/doonan/2013/04/steubenville_rape_forgiveness_oscar_pistorius_forgiveness_let_s_stop_forgiving.html

An Erinku:

I know my last few blogs

have been blargy.

Soon I’ll be back to stories of

coffee, tipping over, and playing music.

Being Courageous

Today, I was roaming around my mom's new town and re-breaking in my sandals (it's much warmer here than in Colorado). After an hour of roaming, I ducked into a coffee shop since it had been hours since my previous dose of caffeine. While I sat there, two ladies in their 40's sat down next to me and started talking about Lady A's relationship.

Lady A was in a long-term relationship, then started cheating. When her significant other found out, they were devastated and broke up with Lady A. Lady A and B both laughed about how messed up her ex was now and "that's what therapy is for!" At this point, I was pretty disgusted with them, so I downed my coffee and left.

After all my life adventures, here's what I think: if you are cheating on your significant other, you are a coward. If you can't muster up the courage to tell someone who (theoretically) loves/likes/trusts you that you can't/don't/won't have that same level of love/like/trust in return, then break up. Seriously.

Yes, there will probably be tears and sadness, but it's the healthiest and most respectful way to act. If you accidentally fall into cheating, you need to A.) be WAY more aware of your surrounding (seriously? how did that accidentally happen?) and B.) tell your significant other. Now. Yes, it will damage your relationship, but you know what? It's not the "telling" that will hurt the relationship, it's how you acted.  So grow up and take responsibility.

There are so many people damaged by cheating. Instead of damaging folks, it would be so much better if you just ended it. That way, both partners can move on with a clean start. Life is tough and if you are already planning to move on without your partner, then be honest about it. That's what being a grown-up is all about.

Bah. At the very least, I got a tasty caramel latte in. And my feet have been reacquainted my sandals, so we're good to go for another season.

An Erinku:
my pink shirt
sort-of
hides where
I dribbled my coffee on it

Where I wrote a short story with CleverBot

Because I enjoyed the collaborative movie with CleverBot so much, I wrote a short story asking CleverBot for important parts of the plot. Here it is (with a moral from CleverBot as the final thought): 

User: Let's write a short story.

Cleverbot: Okay, how do we start?

User: It was a dark and stormy night, when suddenly a panda entered the room. What is the name of our heroine?

Cleverbot: What happened next?

User: What is the name of the heroine?

Cleverbot: Paper.

User: Paper squeaked out loud as the panda entered the room. At first, she was surprised as she thought that all bears hibernated in the winter. Then she remembered that pandas really aren't bears and that they only eat bamboo. Does Paper have any bamboo in her house?

Cleverbot: That may have been a coincidence. I don't remember more than one statement at a time.

User: Coincidentally, Paper remembered that she had been given a bamboo plant from a local fortune-teller. This turn of events suddenly made sense when she remembered what the fortune-teller had told her. What did the fortune-teller say to her?

Cleverbot: Or, you are just trying to trick me like all of the chatbots do.

User: What did Paper say to her, in return?

Cleverbot: You tell me, you said it.

User: And the fortune-teller's final warning?

Cleverbot: The force is stronger with me, for I am Sith, and I am superior to you... Yoda...

User: Paper shook her head after remembering the conversation, because it turns out that it really had no bearing on why she was given a bamboo plant to appease the now-rampaging panda in her front room. Gathering up all her bravery, Paper yoinked the bamboo from the shelf and went to face the panda. What did she say to the panda?

Cleverbot: I don't understand you. The first thing that I said to you was that we have met before.

User: Startled, the panda looked at Paper keenly. What did Paper say next?

Cleverbot: Only with the correct mind set do they complement each other, for if one does not know the past it shall be repeated in the present and future.

User: The panda set down the coat tree he'd been using to smack the couch. Paper gave him the bamboo plant, which he started to munch on, thoughtfully. What did she say next?

Cleverbot: The first thing you have to say about it.

User: Then what did she say?

Cleverbot: Only she knows.

User: And then?

Cleverbot: 777.

User: When Paper uttered those magic numbers, the panda suddenly transformed into a handsome man wearing a panda suit. Or maybe he was ugly. It's hard to tell what someone looks like in a full-body panda suit. What did he reply?

Cleverbot: Do you like me?

User: And what did Paper answer?

Cleverbot: You said that you wanted to die.

User: Interesting. What did she add to that cryptic statement?

Cleverbot: Now I know you're trolling me.

User: What is the panda's name?

Cleverbot: 123.

User: Is that really his name? Try again. What is his name?

Cleverbot: 40.

User: What is his name?

Cleverbot: Rook.

User: Rook, the 40-year old man in the panda suit, was deeply hurt by Paper's words. He thought for a minute about their past interactions (before he'd been turned into a panda) and found the perfect thing to end their long-standing fight. What did say to her?

Cleverbot: Do you believe in imagination?

User: Paper gasped and sat down on her couch. 'How did he know?' she thought. Out loud she replied... what did she say?

Cleverbot: I don't know. I thought that maybe robots and machines would never hurt me like you just did.

User: PERFECT! Rook ripped off his panda mask and suit, revealing not a naked 40-year-old man, but an appropriately attired 40-year-old man who sat down on the couch next to Paper. What did he say to her?

Cleverbot: Actually thats what it is to me, cause your opinions are not of your own making, they are opinions of the one that made you the way you are.

User: And what did she say?

Cleverbot: That.

User: Did she say anything else?

Cleverbot: I'm drawing.

User: With that, they kissed and lived happily ever after. They never did figure out the ominous warnings from the fortune-teller, but that's ok. Because sometimes life has loose ends that never make sense. The end.

Cleverbot: People need to learn to budget within their income, it's as simple as that.

An Erinku (without collaboration)

old potato

on my desk

autographed by me

in red sharpie