It will be rain tonight…(Then let it come down!)
I feel languid, sluggish and slow-moving. I never sleep well on Sundays. I’m attuned to the weekend’s clock, and 5:51 hits me in the face every Monday morning.
But what a cool weekend! Adam is back from San Diego and Chris and Amy are back from Michigan – the writing group has reunited. We all met up at Aladdin Pita Saturday to discuss my story, “A Slow Gin Fizz” and make fun of each other. My story went over very well, which sort of surprised me, seeing as it’s 78 pages of dream fever intensity. I’m glad. I liked writing it. I’ve begun work on my trip account, and that is going well also. The group is sparkling…the stories seem to get better every week (or at least longer).
Saturday night I went with Heather and Paul and Katie and Herbie (and a few others) to Dave and Busters in Chicago, where I drank a Slow Gin Fizz (my first cocktail, in honor of the completion of my story – it tasted like a Slow Gin Crap) and ate fried mushrooms and played a few video games and messed around with the photo machines. There’s a picture of my face superimposed on George Washington’s that’s so freakin’ hilarious – if I can figure out how to post it, I shall. It looks like a drunk Edgar Allen Poe vampire with sharpened teeth. Something went terribly wrong. I can just hear Herbie saying, “That picture is horrible.” And it cost three dollars.
Sunday I rode thirty miles and hung out with Heather and Paul and then ate dinner on the porch, reading Gibran and watching the sunset, rather enjoying the melancholia of too much beauty. It lent itself to some late night prose.
And…Adam burned me a CD by a Ugandan singer named Geoffrey Oryema, and it’s sort of mind-blowingly great. I put it on to write to, and I had to keep stopping and paying attention to it. Check it out.
I feel languid, sluggish and slow-moving. I never sleep well on Sundays. I’m attuned to the weekend’s clock, and 5:51 hits me in the face every Monday morning.
But what a cool weekend! Adam is back from San Diego and Chris and Amy are back from Michigan – the writing group has reunited. We all met up at Aladdin Pita Saturday to discuss my story, “A Slow Gin Fizz” and make fun of each other. My story went over very well, which sort of surprised me, seeing as it’s 78 pages of dream fever intensity. I’m glad. I liked writing it. I’ve begun work on my trip account, and that is going well also. The group is sparkling…the stories seem to get better every week (or at least longer).
Saturday night I went with Heather and Paul and Katie and Herbie (and a few others) to Dave and Busters in Chicago, where I drank a Slow Gin Fizz (my first cocktail, in honor of the completion of my story – it tasted like a Slow Gin Crap) and ate fried mushrooms and played a few video games and messed around with the photo machines. There’s a picture of my face superimposed on George Washington’s that’s so freakin’ hilarious – if I can figure out how to post it, I shall. It looks like a drunk Edgar Allen Poe vampire with sharpened teeth. Something went terribly wrong. I can just hear Herbie saying, “That picture is horrible.” And it cost three dollars.
Sunday I rode thirty miles and hung out with Heather and Paul and then ate dinner on the porch, reading Gibran and watching the sunset, rather enjoying the melancholia of too much beauty. It lent itself to some late night prose.
And…Adam burned me a CD by a Ugandan singer named Geoffrey Oryema, and it’s sort of mind-blowingly great. I put it on to write to, and I had to keep stopping and paying attention to it. Check it out.
Comments
I'm such a dork.