Slow down, Time, please, slow down. (i typed "show" first and then "snow," maybe i need a manicure or some rewiring between eyes, brain & fingers) How come yesterday just whooshed by even when I was paying attention? Usually I figure days slip away when I'm not, paying attention that is, when I'm busy with work or projects or in a web-coma, but yesterday I wanted to be conscious of every hour so that I could remember the enjoyment I had. Yeah, that didn't work all that well. I managed a bit of sewing before time to go to lunch, I tried to live in every moment at LL's (especially the foot-soaking in hot, salty water part--omg, luxury much?) but there it was nearly 3 PM and I had no recollection of most of the time gone by. I zoomed through Copps to get a few ingredients not available at your local Walmart, then on to Porter's house to let her out to race around the yard like a deranged dervish, stopping only for a quick pee with the Mickey D's promo football in her mouth. We played for a while then I shut her back indoors and came home to eat meatloaf (mmm, meatloaf) and go to the Barbershoppers concert. There was great, recognizable music to hum along with and the guest quartet from Minnesota was freakin' fantastic. The chords they sang made the hairs on my arms stand up and my nipples too. It was chilly in the auditorium (hmm, maybe that explains the nipple thing) and even chillier outside. I bundled up in a duvet when I got home and eventually warmed up. It's been below normal this last week. It's supposed to be above normal part of this week, and then cool down to below again by the weekend. When's it gonna be normal? Huh? Let's string together a few 60-degree days, please. Hot, cold, hotcold. I can't take it much longer. I've been having weird dreams, active ones about work and libraries and hunky young men, oh, and horses too. I almost hate to wake up. I'm cool and slender and sought-after in them too. Guess that's why they call them "dreams."
April 28--Samuel Colt, Colt Third Model Dragoon Percussion Revolver.
Winter, Summer, Spring
all in one day
When I closed my notebook so quickly last night Durwood thought he'd disturbed me (he disturbs me, all right, but not in that way) but I assured him that he hadn't. I think that the poem up there above the squiggles (the tilde) deserves the "bam" at the end, don't you?