(*Truth. I didn’t know anything had happened until I woke up and the front door and all the windows in the house were open. Also, it was smokey. Like the bear.)
Fluffernutter,a stray cat who lives in the woods around J’s apartment, has taken ill. We’re not sure what it is, but S, the care taker of the cat street gang (there are something like 13 cats who hang around the neighborhood), has made him a bed, where he’s currently sleeping, surrounded by tuna fish cans. F looks sad. Yesterday, he ran across the parking lot to kill a frog and eat it, but today, it doesn’t look so good. It makes me less angry that J’s cat has gone to sleep on the print out of the document I’m supposed to be editing.
In the meantime, I’ve been moderately ill since Friday, when my throat starting feel hot and itchy. It seems to be lifting now, but I still can’t breathe out of my nose. After waking up at two pm on Saturday, I spent the rest of the day trying to convince myself that it was okay to lay around and not do anything so that I could get better. IT WAS A GIFT I WOULD GIVE TO MYSELF. (Therapy seems
to be working.)
Last night, I started writing some new fiction, and it was like rain was falling and I had to make a bucket to catch it, which is a much better feeling that the one where I have to patch up holes so the rain doesn’t seep in. I was afraid I’d wake up today and it would be gone, or worse, terrible, but it turns out I still like it.
About to start reading Naked in the Promised Land, Lillian Faderman’s memoir. Faderman wrote Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers (among other things), which I read in my junior year of college and is one of those books I still get the urge to buy even though I already own it.
(songs today: june hymn, the decemberists; drawn, the garden verge; bixby canyon bridge, death cab for cutie; raja vocative, the mountain goats; landfill, daughter; free man in paris, joni mitchell; this electric, badly drawn boy; man of the hour, norah jones; so says I, the shins.)