2009-05-04 - 4:40 p.m.
My mom visited for the weekend. She slept on our futon and it's a small apartment but we made it work out just fine: coffee mugs and cold feet in the morning, a chattery five-block walk for lunch. Saturday night, we met my brother at his bar and had discounted drinks there. Then we went to another bar and though I could tell she was fading pretty fast, she nursed her fancy beer and made it through all right. I admire her willingness for just about anything. I think I could take her to a goth club or something and she'd shrug her shoulders and walk right in and nod along to the music when it suited her. She's a good one.
My work friend just got back from a two-week trip to southern California, for a journalism workshop. He'd sent me an email, telling me how much he liked it, how much he missed the intensity of talking writing and theater for ten days. You could feel the glow. Then he got into the office and we decided to get something to eat. But, forty-five seconds into the car ride to the burrito place, he came out with the real fever behind his eyes, which is that he'd hooked up with one of the girls there. He bought a ring for his girlfriend a few months ago, but hadn't given it to her yet. He's got it tucked away in a drawer. So he's got some things to think about. I told him that he reminded me of a New Yorker story, and I don't think that's what he wanted to hear.
Rain, rain. This feels like another place these past few days, a different kind of ecosystem. I like it, very much. But only to a point. Four days of rain is about all I've got in me. The feeling of sun on the face can't be beat. But I do like the sounds cars make on wet city streets. I like the specific color of green that's outside all of my windows right now: outside the apartment, outside my pickup, outside the coffee shop in the morning. Green that goes right to your brain stem, to your guts, to your heart, even, green that says, I'm Alive and, you know, There Is No Chance It Will Snow Again This Year.
I'd like to go for a long hike, a walk, a walkabout, a stroll. No matter what you call them, walks sound nice, don't they?
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