04 November, 2003

Week Four

Monday, start of Week Four

After several phone calls to arrange and rearrange, I am relaxed enough to don my swimsuit, yes, in November, for some sunbathing, a solar hairdryer after my awkward bath. Toasting in the rosy rays, I dream my hair has grown, Rapunzel-like, wrapping me round like a living blanket, snaring leaves and twigs and small birds. Fuzzy wakes me, fascinated by a black-tipped red-brown caterpillar that undulates along the walk. I encourage her to touch it with one finger. Eventually, conquering her girly, inexplicable fear of creepies and crawlies, she does so, delighted to find that it is, in fact, fuzzy, just as Mama promised.

I have managed to hook my bra together when The Prince walks in the front door, and scoot to the bedroom for a shirt. Not that he hasn't seen, but... he and Coco have arrived to take me to our Murder Mystery on the Eastern Shore, at Wye River. The interior of Coco's smokey, cluttered car rings with our shared laughter on the way down, and companionable silence on the way back. The Prince is quiet, pleasant company, less animated than usual, and Coco is very well, until we pass a John Deere harvesting soybeans from a field two miles prior to our venue. She becomes instantly allergy ridden, and is uncomfortable for the entirety of the show, poor thing.

The drive across the bridge is lovely, and I manage to not lose contact with Lewis, who has called from The Bay Weekly to interview me. He also interviews CJ, in a remote, relayed question-and-answer sort of way, as she is driving and doesn't want to hold the cell phone. Lewis promises to mail a copy of the issue in which the article appears, very kind, and I look forward to it.

Less satisfying is my conversation with Steven, who is after some scripts that I'm working on, and evidently did not get, or lost track of, the ones I had sent last week. Or (let's be fair) the ones I thought I sent last week. The outfit I'm working for as an independant contractor, Academic Edge, has a website that is far, far inferior to Steve's own, which surprises me, and does not, both at once. Steve's is probably the most beautiful website I've ever seen, appropriately so, as he is not only beautiful but a genius as well. And amazingly self-disciplined, which I admire but do not envy, somehow.

The Murder goes well. The guests are sparse but involved, quietly so. L feels he has not done a good job of managing the investigation, but I've never known him to admit to having done a good job on anything. Coco sneezes incessantly, The Prince seems distracted, and I alternate between hopping around and grumbling at being pushed. D is cheerful, as always, and S is feeling poorly. We're quite a motley group tonight, and nobody wants to drink or even eat together afterwards, very unusual. Most of us will return to this site on Saturday, for a different show.

Hawk is still home, and I savor another night beside him in the waterbed, though he inconsiderately insists on sleeping diagonally. A mixed blessing, that. I miss him in the morning when he leaves me, though I have the bed comfortably all to myself.

Mixed feelings. A lot like life.

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