SHIT is an anagram of THIS.

just saw Sherman Alexie and G Willow Wilson at Elliott Bay. after the readings they took questions from the audience. a woman introduced herself as a 5th grade teacher starting a creative writing unit with her students, and do they have any advice to share?
Willow: "write something and finish it. you'll be ahead of 99% of everyone else out there."
Sherman: "write about what you had for breakfast. that totally defines your life."
and it kind of does:

he's driving, I'm riding, pissy drizzle causing the wipers to skip. his hand is on my leg, my hand is on his neck, our unspoken default. he's quieter than usual but I don't notice right away. my sentience doesn't tend to coalesce until I've eaten. I pardon myself this chronic deficit.
we sit at a table in the corner. we each have a wall to stare at, muttering small talk about the aesthetics of the various things on the table.... the salt shaker is perfect, the sugar canister sucks, ketchup used to be much thinner and the impractical bottle shape is purely based on brand recognition. coffee with cream. he takes sweetener, I don't. he leaves behind pats of butter, I avoid the onions. our waiter has tattooed fingers and plugs in his earlobes, and we don't tip him as much as we should have. Marilyn Monroe, skirt flying, smiles down on us. the silence is less, but it's still there. and after breakfast the same problems reinvent themselves, and I get a whole week alone in which to replay it.

-my first Raynaud's of the season.
-wall of fog, parts 1 and 2.
-the forbidden basement of the Rainier Brewery.
-kiwi of love.