One, two, hootchie-coo! What have I been up to?
Im boring and old and decepit.
Also fat, happy and in love.
I sleep in, work part-time, have no children and enjoy many interesting hobbies.
My friends and loved ones are friendly and loved.
The weather is expected to be 80, sunny, but it still smells like last night's rain outside.
I turned 31.
Had a great birthday.
A dozen people showed up to eat food on my porch.
I even got presents.
Awesome ones. Awesome.
I just got asked to be a groomsman for an old old friend.
Back in the day, once upon a time, long ago in a high school that was painted entirely sky blue...
we were teenagers together and had The Best Time.
There were four of us.
We're still great friends even though we're in 3 states.
I'm blessed from top to bottom.
Most of my excitement comes from work.
The other day one of our residents got bored so he lit a fire in his room.. cause, ya know.. why not? I look forward to a woman in her mid 50s who has two personalities.. one is very sweet and glad to be feeling good. The other is someone tortured and afraid. I play chess sometimes with a young veteran who needed housing. We have one guy who has the delusion that OTHER people think HE is Brooke Shields.. and that they don't believe his testimony to the contrary.
Yeah.
So... I go there.. and deal with that sort of thing.
Then I get home from work and Ryan has made me dinner at midnight and has cheesecake waiting for me because he's a magic gnome who grants my best secret wishes.
Somehow.
The bastard.
That perfect, wonderful bastard.
This means I don't have personal complaints.. which is mighty fine!
But, it also makes this entry boring.
Uh.. Ill work on it?
****************************
Today, days later, nothing has changed.
It's peach and berry, yo.
Raspberries and cream.
Flowers and sunshine.
Kissing and cuddlin'.
Yesterday morning I rolled from sheets to tepid shower to the smell of fresh waffles to the shaded summer porch. Ryan was the waffle prestidigitator. He's magic.
That's when friends came over bearing talk of mountains and books and mountainous books and book moutains.
They also brought ice cream and day-old fresh-picked huckleberries from those same mountains.
We also talked of school and work. Friends and family.
Today I slept till noon, sent Ryan off to his day and lolled on my shady porch, reading and sipping coffee. Called friends on my tellingphone.
Shared stories of abuse, betrayal, conceit, madness, love triangles and hate circles among our common brood.... we talked about "control" issues. I love Rashonda with all my pitiful and black heart because we way we can talk.
Ok ok, I love her for other reasons, too.
*******************************
July fourth, I was ALSO on my porch.
I was celebrating the holiday by "not doin' shit".
I am an active and engaged citizen, obviously.
Ryan went on a walk to the park wearing his blend-in clothes to see if he could find our local dissidents amongst the red, white, & blue.
No luck, but it was perfect weather and a nice walk.
While he was gone, I was on the aforementioned lovely porch.
I had a coffee and a beer... which I admittedly was drinking simultaneously in slow-motion.
Engaged with an engorging book, touched by a light breeze.
Sip. Turn page. Sip, sip.
This is the first 'perfect summer day' in awhile. We were stormed then we were baked.. and today was perfect with little white puffy clouds and pubescent robins using the cedar-shrubs around our porch, to learn to fly.
Sip my warm beer.
Mmmm.
My mind filled with my book talking to me.
A new conception of culture and cultural influence.
I'm undressing my brain, sip my tepid sweet coffee.
Sip, sip.
Trying to be still so the robins are comfortable with me.
They song and flutter and fall and zoom from longer distances through the porch, along the roof.
Wobbling, sometimes.
Some were practicing flying, some were lost practicing 'not falling' still.
Isn't that the way?
I watch their struggles with a half-interest, because birds know when they are being watched.
I can only watch them if I don't watch them.
Like particles and waves, man. Like particles and waves.
Part of me follows their progress, their setbecks. I can listen to their twitterpation and delights while my book tumbles into my brain like black-and-white ashes that accidentally writes the code of the universe.
Boom! Pham! Teeny-squawk!
Tweet!
Tweet-tweet tweet?
There is a tired, surprised and fatalistic baby robin on the ledge a foot away from me.
He wrote his awkward wing-stylings in the dust of the windowpane.
Tweet!
Birdie stared at me with big black -please-dont-eat-me- eyes.
I stared at him over my book, but didn't move.
He caught his breath... looked at me skeptically... then gratefully... then went back to catching his breath from the fall.
Shake it off, little birdie! Shake it off!
He tests for injuries.
Hop.
His hoppers are just fine.
He shakes out his wings, ruffle.
A summer dust shuffles out of his feathers.
He spent about 3 minutes there, right beside me.
Knowing I was there, but trusting me rather than try another risky flight after a fall.
Eventually, he flew away.. hop, hop, swoop... he actually flies quite well.
Last year was marked by a bald eagle gliding the span of the wide river with no effort.
Just, hanging out... flying over glorious rivers and forest on a bright, sunny day.
"Whatever. I'm an eagle...." he said, when asked. "...it's what we do. Get over it."
I haven't gotten over it, yet.
Now the robin to keep that memory company.
Also fat, happy and in love.
I sleep in, work part-time, have no children and enjoy many interesting hobbies.
My friends and loved ones are friendly and loved.
The weather is expected to be 80, sunny, but it still smells like last night's rain outside.
I turned 31.
Had a great birthday.
A dozen people showed up to eat food on my porch.
I even got presents.
Awesome ones. Awesome.
I just got asked to be a groomsman for an old old friend.
Back in the day, once upon a time, long ago in a high school that was painted entirely sky blue...
we were teenagers together and had The Best Time.
There were four of us.
We're still great friends even though we're in 3 states.
I'm blessed from top to bottom.
Most of my excitement comes from work.
The other day one of our residents got bored so he lit a fire in his room.. cause, ya know.. why not? I look forward to a woman in her mid 50s who has two personalities.. one is very sweet and glad to be feeling good. The other is someone tortured and afraid. I play chess sometimes with a young veteran who needed housing. We have one guy who has the delusion that OTHER people think HE is Brooke Shields.. and that they don't believe his testimony to the contrary.
Yeah.
So... I go there.. and deal with that sort of thing.
Then I get home from work and Ryan has made me dinner at midnight and has cheesecake waiting for me because he's a magic gnome who grants my best secret wishes.
Somehow.
The bastard.
That perfect, wonderful bastard.
This means I don't have personal complaints.. which is mighty fine!
But, it also makes this entry boring.
Uh.. Ill work on it?
****************************
Today, days later, nothing has changed.
It's peach and berry, yo.
Raspberries and cream.
Flowers and sunshine.
Kissing and cuddlin'.
Yesterday morning I rolled from sheets to tepid shower to the smell of fresh waffles to the shaded summer porch. Ryan was the waffle prestidigitator. He's magic.
That's when friends came over bearing talk of mountains and books and mountainous books and book moutains.
They also brought ice cream and day-old fresh-picked huckleberries from those same mountains.
We also talked of school and work. Friends and family.
Today I slept till noon, sent Ryan off to his day and lolled on my shady porch, reading and sipping coffee. Called friends on my tellingphone.
Shared stories of abuse, betrayal, conceit, madness, love triangles and hate circles among our common brood.... we talked about "control" issues. I love Rashonda with all my pitiful and black heart because we way we can talk.
Ok ok, I love her for other reasons, too.
*******************************
July fourth, I was ALSO on my porch.
I was celebrating the holiday by "not doin' shit".
I am an active and engaged citizen, obviously.
Ryan went on a walk to the park wearing his blend-in clothes to see if he could find our local dissidents amongst the red, white, & blue.
No luck, but it was perfect weather and a nice walk.
While he was gone, I was on the aforementioned lovely porch.
I had a coffee and a beer... which I admittedly was drinking simultaneously in slow-motion.
Engaged with an engorging book, touched by a light breeze.
Sip. Turn page. Sip, sip.
This is the first 'perfect summer day' in awhile. We were stormed then we were baked.. and today was perfect with little white puffy clouds and pubescent robins using the cedar-shrubs around our porch, to learn to fly.
Sip my warm beer.
Mmmm.
My mind filled with my book talking to me.
A new conception of culture and cultural influence.
I'm undressing my brain, sip my tepid sweet coffee.
Sip, sip.
Trying to be still so the robins are comfortable with me.
They song and flutter and fall and zoom from longer distances through the porch, along the roof.
Wobbling, sometimes.
Some were practicing flying, some were lost practicing 'not falling' still.
Isn't that the way?
I watch their struggles with a half-interest, because birds know when they are being watched.
I can only watch them if I don't watch them.
Like particles and waves, man. Like particles and waves.
Part of me follows their progress, their setbecks. I can listen to their twitterpation and delights while my book tumbles into my brain like black-and-white ashes that accidentally writes the code of the universe.
Boom! Pham! Teeny-squawk!
Tweet!
Tweet-tweet tweet?
There is a tired, surprised and fatalistic baby robin on the ledge a foot away from me.
He wrote his awkward wing-stylings in the dust of the windowpane.
Tweet!
Birdie stared at me with big black -please-dont-eat-me- eyes.
I stared at him over my book, but didn't move.
He caught his breath... looked at me skeptically... then gratefully... then went back to catching his breath from the fall.
Shake it off, little birdie! Shake it off!
He tests for injuries.
Hop.
His hoppers are just fine.
He shakes out his wings, ruffle.
A summer dust shuffles out of his feathers.
He spent about 3 minutes there, right beside me.
Knowing I was there, but trusting me rather than try another risky flight after a fall.
Eventually, he flew away.. hop, hop, swoop... he actually flies quite well.
Last year was marked by a bald eagle gliding the span of the wide river with no effort.
Just, hanging out... flying over glorious rivers and forest on a bright, sunny day.
"Whatever. I'm an eagle...." he said, when asked. "...it's what we do. Get over it."
I haven't gotten over it, yet.
Now the robin to keep that memory company.