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2004-03-01 There are things, i think, that are too embarrassing in my set of current events that are too painful to reveal here having to do with two houses of booing fraternity boys and a poop dollar. We smile at it now. And revel in are plans to get them back. I take note of the time each time I pass, and note the lack of inactivity. Rue and Pete both were examine my nose at a stranger's keg party. Pete reaching precariously at the lamp to aim like a spotlight, Rue going in with his pinchers. Just dry skin. They make me raise my voice ever so. These little embarrassments. Deposits in the humble account again. I was caught loudly creating a reality shows in a restaurant in front of an old professor. But I can't stop anymore, no more interruptions. Sometimes I think myself too bold for myself. Playing drinking tunes within the paper thin walls of the apartments on my accordion. It warms my heart to think of Frank Yankovic writing a songbook of polkas named after girls he probably never kissed. The Francine Polka. The Lilian Polka. The Helen Polka. I notice everyday that people are more closed off to each other than they need to be in their everyday interweavings. I think my goal is going to be for subtle intervention when possible. I forget that we aren't all that different from each other. (PS. We got a perfect wood trimmed and fireplace with windows bright apartment on a little street named Sunnyside. Love.) |