Dear [Sir],
…
Don’t miss out on [my friend]. Your students will learn so much from him, both academically, and as a role model of a great guy who sees the worth of hard work and treating others well.
…
Feel free to call with any questions,
Earnestly yours,
Erin Luhks
We are getting a little carried away. All this self-cherishing surely ain’t yoga.
I thought it was the light that woke me up every morning.
However, last night I slept on the sofa in our apartment, in the living room, which has zero access to natural light. And I woke up at 6am on the dot anyway.
Also, there was thunder.
#LUB-DUB
We sing.
Ken McCarthy and me
Me, after kicking up to handstand:
“Lindsay, did you hear that?”
Lindsay:
“You kicking up? No. Why?”
Me:
“Exactly!”
Lindsay smiles.
#LUB-DUB
I was trying to figure out whether this little guy is worth the long trip up to the Bronx. My sweetheart promised to take me up there if I want. Makes me think:
Are giraffes scary or cute or both? Are zoos exploitative or amazing or both?
His name is James.
Michael: yes
“Lahiri’s stories are static, but what looks like stasis is really the stillness of enormous forces pushing in opposite directions, barely keeping one another in check.”
“My work accrues sentence by sentence. After an initial phase of sitting patiently, not so patiently, struggling to locate them, to pin them down, they begin arriving, fully formed in my brain. I tend to hear them as I am drifting off to sleep. They are spoken to me, I’m not sure by whom. By myself, I know, though the source feels independent, recondite, especially at the start. The light will be turned on, a sentence or two will be hastily scribbled on a scrap of paper, carried upstairs to the manuscript in the morning. I hear sentences as I’m staring out the window, or chopping vegetables, or waiting on a subway platform alone. They are pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, handed to me in no particular order, with no discernible logic. I only sense that they are part of the thing.”
It’s kind of beautiful that NYT published this article today. I was on a mind trip this weekend thinking about what part of me makes my thoughts into words. (Lots of my thoughts are words. What part of me does that? Is it the Noticing Part? Or does the Noticing Part notice the words-crafting? Jhumpa here says, “I’m not sure by whom,” and after a little thought, neither am I!
I hope you enjoy this article, or thinking about this, too.
#LUB-DUB
I like when Lindsay Sullivan spells my name wrong.
Because in Sanskrit, H usually comes after consonants. So she spells me Lukhs.
Don’t any of you other people try to get away with it though. It won’t work.
