(no subject)

[caatinga]

Today I finally ate it on the lightrail tracks, lost my glove in the grit and maculated wet leaves.  Forever, as it turned out.  "What are you looking for?" a group of under-housed men asked when I returned to the site in the rain slicked dark.  I held up my hands, the left one looking nude as the news.  My glove!  My glove!  "Well, let's find it for her, boys."  And the three of them got up and started looking.  I didn't want to fight them on this, but I was just as relieved when one of them advised (very audibly, repeatedly) to kiss that glove goodbye and tottered off.  I tottered off myself and left the last bearded guy gazing into the gutter.  I shouted thanks and goodnight and hoped that the glove that remained was a mate to the one left behind from my previous glove divorce last week.  No such luck.  That Jansport elastic just don't squeeze like she used to.  Came home and i was soaked.  I swear it's been years since my ass was that cold and sodden.

But!  I managed to keep both hands.  They remain a matched pair.

That optimism may be a result of using Sam-E (not Sammy, I would never use her, although she makes me quite cheerful!).  Is this what I would feel like all the time if I'd gotten donuts with my brother every morning and had nicer parents?  One just never knows.  But I feel better I guess.  Less inclined to rage when I spill beans all over the kitchen and they bounce all over the place.

Things are well enough.  I am very poor, but remain extremely classy except for a few minor lapses.