i am no longer (mad lib) enough to get away with (mad lib).
sometimes i imagine what it must be like to be young and espy a thirty on the cusp of forty year old man in awkward entirely unselfconscious early morning walk the dog attire suddenly freeze and seem to get lost in the light of the filtered maple leaves and wonder what past regret haunts him so much as to let the dog at the end of his unmonitored leash dig so deep among the beauty bark.
oh. i didn't want to be counting the following victories and defeats among my weekly, diary-ic tally, but what else is there now, other than to throw records at turnstile of time? at the very least, i won't designate them as good or ill. who even knows at this point. yes, i am reading british literature at the moment, it's all tidied up into one sum. steady on.
* i have run nearly every day for a fortnight
* one of the severest droughts of recent memory has produced:
a. some of the most concentrated sugar sweet blackberries i have do i ever dare to eat a peach eaten
b. a devastating conflagration
c. sunsets like i have not known since kansas, where the annual harvest threw up dust into the air like confetti and fireworks
d. blackberries disguised as spiders
f. i was bitten by a spider when i thought i was biting a blackberry
g. please go hold your children, because i was bitten by a spider. on my tongue.
H. MY TONGUE
i. $2 million grant
j. pulled over for expired tags
k. was sober
l. dreamt of running away to mexico with an un-lucky tiger
everyone keeps harping about the sunsets, and it's hard to piss on their pleasure by pointing out all that beauty comes at the sorrow of all those fires. maybe that's the way of the world. every great joy is birthed of terrible pain.
i suppose that's no secret.
a friend of mine told me today that when he was watching me, i got this ultra serious look on my face, like my dog had died. my thoughts have always betrayed me (SOMETIMES MY HANDS TOO, SORRY). got to watch that. wonder what horrible beauty was squatting in my rented space.