Recently, at the end of the day, I looked down at my hands and saw that they were scratched, bruised, scarred and bleeding. I was wearing coveralls over a few layers of warm clothing, and steel toed boots. It was winter and I was standing on 25 tons of heavy hydraulic machinery. It had been a long hard day's work. I didn't remember hurting my hands. Maybe it was due to the cold or maybe I'm just used to it by now. I thought these are not pretty hands. Good thing I don't rely on my hands' good looks. But then again, I don't expect any part of my looks to get me anywhere. The more I realize this, the less I worry about my hair cut, my wardrobe, or getting tattoos.
You can spend Sunday morning wearing one of my shirts, on the big comfy couch, with one or more cats at your side, watching cats on YouTube on the big screen tv, while I cook brunch.
Blade Runner; Being There; Meet Joe Black; What Dreams May Come; Down With Love.
The West Wing
Ennio Morricone; Erikc Satie; Vladimir Cosma; Bossa Nova; Samba;
Very Large Prime numbers
Graham's number's panorama
The granularity of reality