Sunday, February 23, 2014


Just realized I’m wearing an eye mask on my forehead like a headband. This could be the new look. Don’t forget that you heard it here first. I remember when my mother or maybe father got that birthday card after turning 40 and it said congratulations, you’re over the hill. And I wondered: what hill? I’m still wondering. Sometimes I think all adjectives should be abolished. At least in writing. Her "loud, happy laugh." Shoot me. I put some fresh mint in with the steamed vegetables. This might be the answer. Yes, I’m still confused by a performance experiment that doesn’t allow late arrivals or early departures.

If there is a hill, do we believe in hell? Now everyone’s talking about an Amtrak writer’s residency, but I just want to be paid back for all the terrible trains I’ve already taken. I hope someone writes about how the freight companies own the train lines, so coal takes precedence and Amtrak is 12 hours late. I hope someone writes about how if we had high-speed rail the 48-hour-plus ride from Chicago to Seattle could be 15 hours, San Francisco to LA in two hours instead of 12. I hope someone writes about the terrible food they serve.
I know this happens every year, but somehow I can’t believe it’s 5:30 pm and still kind of light out. If I sound optimistic, I’m as surprised as you are. Something’s really weird in my apartment—I think they turned the heat on. When I lived in San Francisco I tried to pretend it wasn’t California, but when Randy calls me from San Francisco in February and says she’s going to the beach I realize oh. My mother leaves a message to say okay, she’s not going to call me so much. Then she calls three more times because she wants to reach me. She wants to hear my voice. I’m trying to remember the lyrics to this song.

No comments: