because what is bestfriendship if not a constant compromise on plans(or the absence thereof) as dictated by the severity of individual life-issues? (this is not cynicism. i’m being serious. don’t get used to it.) i’m just now making dinner, thanks to my neurosis re: eating alone-slash-in front of someone who isn’t eating. (yes, it’s stupid. let’s both turn down the commentary.)
should i be worried that i apparently don’t have enough of a handle on it to pin it down with verbs, glorify it with adjectives and Name it with Proper nouns? it’s not for lack of trying (though perhaps i ought to try to try less). i’m wearing the scarf my sister brought home for me from Prague, and i’m surprised by how attached i am to it, upon putting it on for the first time. it’s a pretty thing, a fitting thing, probably more raival than August the seventeenth calls for, but Sonoma County defies seasonal reason, so my following suit is, if anything, an homage to this strangest of climatic microcosms in which i find myself much of the time.
anyway. i’m off to pick blackberries in my own little patch of pastorality. they’ll be pies by nightfall, but you can expect arful pictures to commemorate their feral existence and ritualized inclusion into the human experience.
this is the universe in action, didn’t you know? i’m so sorry these meteors didn’t call up your secretary before they team-huddled and planned their movement across “our” sky.
in case this isn’t glaringly obvious: i dislike being trivialized.