(Typically I sit down to the laptop with some idea of a post frame in mind. Consider the following a Sunday afternoon free write.)

I’m sitting here on the living room floor, typing while I eat a banana during my 3:41 p.m. lunch. Better late than never.

There has been a conscious effort as of late, trying to eat a banana every day. I don’t know where it stems from – who wakes up and decides that they must be sure to take in the appropriate amount of potassium? – but a bunch of bananas has been a must-have shopping item list for the past few weeks. Knowing me, it’s a covert way for to trick myself into having a reason to make banana bread (one of my favorite things on earth).

And yet, I’ve yet to make any. Baking isn’t my forte.

Since I’ve been receiving house renovating dispatches from the city by the lake, I was inspired to dig out of the boxes still waiting to be unpacked my Playhouse Jeans – perhaps one of the single greatest bits of clothing I own. They were worn during painting, building and otherwise erecting summer theater sets during college and that history is well-documented. Holes, frayed legs, blotches of paint from years gone by.

Why is it that painting clothing always becomes the most comfortable after the painting is through?

I should resume unpacking. I will shortly, as I’m endeavoring to work bit by bit through the stacks of cardboard so I don’t go mad and begin throwing things. A healthy diet of Matt Nathanson and Ryan Montbleau Band has helped me thus far in this process — bless those musical men I so adore.

It doesn’t seem like as much work when I can dance with hangers and clothing to “Detroit Waves” or a cover of “That Was Your Mother.”