Dispatches from Here
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
1. The sky is very clear today, and there are calls across the air-- a nesting bird, a leaf blower, incidental traffic sound.
2. The two year-old downstairs is wailing mournfully in long cries that end with little yelps and howls. Perhaps he is remembering and grieving his time with the wolves. Perhaps he got a flu shot.
3. In Philadelphia, I could live in luxury for what I'm paying here. Well, I could live in large apartment in a Frank Lloyd Wright building in a sculpture park. Private terrace. Washer and dryer.
4. Before long, I will have very important visitors, viz.: A friend I met in college, who I first admired for her over-sized sweaters, fuzzy hair, and steel-trap mind; the brother who was born when I was 15 and who has only recently stopped insisting that he knows I'm secretly his mom [I'm not]; a mysterious traveler who will come in his own time, once he's done absorbing material from the collective unconscious, or whatever he's doing in there.
5. Writing that last phrase was punctuated by a stretchy jab from inside, as if to say "my agenda remains my own for now" and "hello."