Sunday, January 21, 2007

I slow down to look 
at wrecks on the interstate.
Some I even love.

Friday, January 19, 2007


I saw Benjamin play for the first time in years tonight. He was absolutely brilliant. What I want to note from this evening, however, was an acute desire I had (while peeing) to rifle through a purse which happened to be left on the floor of the bathroom (wide open beside me). My impulse didn't involve theft in any way, but a longing to know its contents secretly, intimately - like looking in lighted windows at night time, or squirrels.

Squirrels you ask? I wanted to be one as a kid. There's no such thing as private property to a squirrel. I could trounce around in everyone else's yard, peer through their windows and eat their vegetables (our neighbors had a garden). I would have total freedom to roam and observe, unobtrusively, these very peculiar humans and no one would be the least perturbed by my presence - save the Reeds, whose tomatoes I would have stolen.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

what's on the menu

First course: toasted bagel with melted Camembert and slices of avocado.

I thought I might be having an anxiety attack when I realized I hadn't had anything to eat all day but coffee and espresso.

Second course: cookie dough. When I bought it I told myself I would have it to bake in the event I had a friend over. At last, the truth comes out (of the can by the spoonful). Motives are slippery little things, even when absolutely nothing is riding on it.

Third course: not yet, but it's cooking. I've practically written an essay on it; how D. is an arrogant, disrespectful, patronizing dick-head who doesn't know how to treat people, least of all me.

Strange thing. I only get upset about it at night before sleep. I lie there blinking, arguing, then finally turning on the light and jotting down a few fresh insults. My latest recipe for trouble.


there was this one time. yes, we were in the mountains. that old antebellum bed and breakfast with the two great oaks out front. it was damp the evening we drove in. and cold. I could see your breath and you could see mine. we brought up your cd player. mississippi john hurt in the low-light. candy man. stepping on each-other's feet. we woke that morning. two mugs of coffee settled into rocking chairs. drops of water on the tin roof. looking out, we sensed a rightness. in everything. accepted what it offered. the left hand of the future not yet having pointed us away.