I’ve been maniacally humming a lot of David Bowie for the last few days. Which is pretty cool, if you ask me. Maybe less cool for the Y trainer who came over to ask me to turn down the ipod to so I could hear myself singing. Or–rather–hear myself start to not sing, as he would have it.
I attribute my elation to the heralded return of my very dearest friend from the bowels of America. By which I mean…. the twisty center and not the shittiest place. He has known me since I was studying econ and wearing my mother’s jean jacket embroidered with Eustace Tilley. I wouldn’t want to belittle the care the rest of you have delivered. Still, the return of Ken has seen a record low for anxiety. My fake allergies have subsided, considerably. Perhaps it’s because K has a spotless record of emergency room behavior.
Had HE been at the gym, he probably would have hummed along. I didn’t tell the trainer that my ipod was off. My whole face had already exploded with adrenaline. Then I consider how Ken calls our joint singing race-to-the-bad note and think we might, perhaps, confine our music to home. And maybe a cruise or two.
In other news:
1. gin and tonics– wow, what an oversight?
2. we’ve brought in a cat, temporarily, as radical measure to take care of mice. I have forgotten so many cats in my life. I called Nico recently to ask her where we met a cat I used to know. I’ve probably convened with yours.
3. there is a second hole in my nostril. really, a third if you count the nostril itself. this time I did not do it because I was feeling impulsive but because I had some time to kill.
4. I have almost finished the first chapter of my thesis. I am going to make a new page for it on my blag. I entreat you to read it and to say scathing, critical things. I don’t have an adviser and trust you more anyway.