2007-12-02 - 11:39 p.m.
The things we keep as little secrets. For example: when I leave this little house, when my time here is done, should I leave a sign on the bathroom door, one that says to the landlords who will come in after me to clean? The sign would say, "I pissed in your sink." And, because they pay the electric bill, three more signs, one for each thermostat, would say, "I jacked these motherfuckers way up because your little house doesn't have any insulation." Or, on the washing machine, "On several occasions, I washed just a pair of jeans."
How about that, though, the urge we have to leave things for others to find, to see, to own, even though we know full well we won't be around for the discovery? I guess it's like buying presents for someone, or tucking a note inside a lunch. We can envision it and it makes us smile. Is there altruism? If so, then we can envision and be glad that we made someone else smile. The people who made the movie Amelie must've had a lot of fun messing around with her. She's crammed full with that kind of mischief. I saw that movie just once, with a crazy, alcoholic girlfriend (she loved six-packs of Negro Modelo in the can and I'm sure she drank some that night) four years ago, but I think about it all the time.
Man, that girl was crazy, though. Her name rhymed with Boozy. Have I written her name in here? Anyway, drunk and crazy. But smart and talented. She almost ruined my younger brother's wedding for me. She didn't want to drive the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel by herself, and so she threw a fit on the phone the day before the wedding and tried to get me to drive from Delaware to Norfolk so that I could drive her across it. It was three hours away. I wonder if I could write something along the lines of Seventeen Crazy Things This One Girl Did and not have it come off as ridiculous and one-sided. I'd probably come off as silly, rather than her. But if I handled it with a wink and a little self-deprecation, perhaps. I feel like her crazy shouldn't be lost to the world, though.
I give a reading here in a week and two days. I am pretty terrified. And a little excited, in the moments between being terrified.
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