It took a year but I wrote a book because I did not know if
I could.[3]
Turns out: I could.[4] It seemed
like Science Fiction but now not so much. Now it just strikes me that I didn’t
let it fester enough. Oh well. Moving on.
My favorite words are:
slalom, hokum, Michigan, prevert.[5]
But seriously. I think I do love you.[8]
Back to the walk. Is it not nice to round the corner and see
something unexpected but purposeful like a young child holding a Chihuahua
lovingly? One thinks, that dog is in trouble because we are walking by the
train tracks but the kid is cool and a talker and her dad seems quietly stressed however he
is carrying hers and her sisters backpacks for them which would make anyone
with a heart soften a little. And she is holding the dog around the shoulders
and straight out so it can see and it is mellow.
[1] Outside.
[2] Like getting
to work.
[3] To see if I
could do it.
[4] Mostly
because I have a printer. And I don’t call it a novel.
[5] Words, yes,
but they also seem like colors and sounds. Silver, fuchsia, cerulean, grey.
[6] Sweaty,
mocha, miserable? Hungry, pained, no core strength? I still love you.
[7] That is
actually a quote from when I first fell in love. He said, as he looked at me
quizzically: “I think I like….love you.”
And there was no butterfly/unicorn/rainbow smile. He actually looked pressured
and tense. And nice. And perfect.
[8] Mostly
because you are reading the footnotes. Is it precocious to have them as half
the text? That’s cool if you think so. I don’t at all, except to wonder if you
do. I think footnotes are nice. But I also like stamps. For example I steer
away from putting a letter stamp on a postcard. But I would do it because I
think of it as a tip. I also like pencils for certain projects and pens for others.
If you want to enrage a crummy mood further give me a pen with blue ink. I can
barely type this without becoming blank and mean at the thought. Black ink. Red
ink. Graphite pencils. These are the main choices.
