Will Be Missed
Thursday evening, late, some esoteric public radio program playing in the background with the volume turned way down low after a day of gluttony and long hours at work, neither one of which, the gluttony or the work, leaving me with much in the way of satisfaction. Gluttony, even low rent heavily seasoned gluttony, should be more fun than a tuna sandwich and a black berry fruit pie for dinner (I don't eat dinner.). Friday is coming. The weekend is coming. Why am I typing here and not in bed there, sleeping? Gluttony and work, or is it working at gluttony, takes a toll.
Friday. Nice day, overcast through the afternoon, the sun out now as I sit here looking out of my balcony door as I'm typing. The woman across the street has a sign up in the window that says "I already knew". There was another one yesterday, I think, but I got in late and it was gone this morning before I could get a photograph. I wonder what she "already knew"? That the relatives were sending the men in the white coats to take her away? Another little old lady goes down fighting? Wouldn't have caused the barest ripple of a thought twenty years ago. I think I might call my own mother this evening. Warn her about putting signs up in her window. Concentrate on that glass of wine over dinner, mom, watch the people around you, and smile. Don't give them a chance to see what you're thinking. Lest they find out.
I just read Rien's last entry. We both started our journals at about the same time on Badd Grrl's Journal Ring and we had some good times trading the occasional odd off the wall entry. His is a much more ambitious and restless and innovative exploration than mine and he's right: the Voice Project, Numbers Project and CD compilations are both unique and valuable contributions to the culture. (I suggest you buy his CD. It's a hell of a deal.). If I ever get to the Netherlands (I won't, but if I ever do) I will give you a call, old friend. You're presence on the wire will be missed. Let us know if you make it to that island.
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