06 July, 2004

Fragmentary Mind

...qu'est que c'est?/fa-fa-fa-fa-fa,fa-fa-fa-fa/better run run run, run run run away/oh,oh, oh, oh, aiy-yi-yi-yi-yai....

July 2: I pine for the beach, but am stumped on how to get there.

July 3: S. buys me a beer. "To cheer you up." So I drink it, dance with her and the other S. You can Macarena to anything written in 4/4. Everything else is a waltz. The band (of course I know the drummer) is honkey tonk- good, but too loud for conversation, or for writing, which is what I'm doing. Not that I want to, I just am.

July 4: Her hands, gentle in my hair, are at odds with her tough exterior. We worry; she may be recalled to active duty. She blows things up. It's her specialty.

July 5: The kids encourage me to go out. "Go to the bar, have fun with your friends." The sitter lets them stay up 'til midnight.

July 6: The car jerks, shudders. Not the transmission or even the catalytic converter, both of which are dying.

I think I'm out of gas.

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