I (of course, to begin with an I) had the best chai today. Top ten, surely. Can't remember the other nine, but this one must be up there.
Walked outside wearing my George Costanza coat (one of the two) and a beanie on my head, olive colored scarf around my neck. Shivered from the wind. The sky itself like a lousing chicken, grayed from rain and dampness. Tried to read Didion, couldn't think. Came home and cried about my the pain in my body, then chopped vegetables for a few hours and stirred quinoa into vegetable broth. Who knew the pleasure of well baked broccoli?
(not I, said the fly)
(not me, said the flea)
Anyhow. Nathan’s eating chips in the kitchen. The rain outside already muffles cars as they zip past our new road. We have a new road! I didn’t think we needed one, Taylor said. She flung her arm out, but look at it! The new concrete looks like you unrolled a rug of the sky at precisely 2:48 AM.
My knees hurt. My boyfriend is asleep in Chicago. Sleepless in Seattle, huh? (made the joke. No self editing here.)
I suppose I’m trying to write again.
I suppose I’m trying to figure it all out, but without pretense. Always without pretense. Always with particularity.
The sky, it suddenly seems important to tell you, the sky is pink as a shell.
How to end these things? I’ve forgotten.
