I feel doubtful but still want to return at 8 am

Thou shalt not covet, but I want her herb box.

bun-on-white-Wranglers

please indulge me while my rabbit suns his bum

I meet the grad students on Tuesday. Therefore, I'm sitting at the laundromat on Memorial Day Weekend washing all my dirt so I can meet them with a pair of underwear on, maybe a clean shirt. Not ideal for Sunday when I have a book to finish, a girlfriend I miss, and friends bbq-ing in various spots upstate and downstate. In fact, this sux. The students have names like Ashley, Anita, Angela, Kasia, Katie, Karen--names that get stuck together. I was planning to memorize their names ahead of time, but I'm too crabby. I hope something comes along to hit me with a better attitude. A big storm can help. Tell me something funny or send a picture of a beautiful object or color if you are also stuck at your desk. I'm definitely buying a chipwich when the ice cream man comes 'round.

would i be a better person if i had this car? probably not. but maybe.

Happy Birthday!

Christopher McCandless's [subject of Into the Wild] final words in his journal, before he died: "beautiful blueberries."

"Aware he was dying, Thoreau's last words were 'Now comes good sailing,' followed by two lone words, 'moose' and 'Indian.'"

This is a house on the land in Otisco [see below]. It was a parsonage in another town, lifted and repositioned at the commune after the last living communard's house burned down (the surviving member in Texas had already left the grounds).

This is where a commune once was: Otisco, Indiana, on the border of Kentucky. One surviving member lives in Texas. The entire town has a population of 200, today. The commune was entirely African-American, with the exception of a white woman and her white husband, who was missing a leg and died of a self-imposed starvation kick. Today, the town--all 200 members--are white. I visited the site in 2005. I felt very sad here. No one has ever documented any part of this commune and their religion.

You know that scene in Ordinary People where Judd Hirsch (as a therapist in a cardigan) screams at Timothy Hutton? He pushes him with the toughest love until young Timothy realizes the truth (remember what the truth was)? I have always wanted to be Judd Hirsch'd like that. I have always wanted someone to yell no to my excuses, while poking that index finger on my sternum, until we get to the truth. I think I finally got Judd Hirsch'd!

I am wondering if I am getting too old to wear something called a "romper." I am definitely too poor to buy this particular romper. I still feel like a million bucks. I am on a late-night writing tear and my girlfriend brought up the ultimate extravagance: a new bottle of Jo Malone. I am a good-smelling writer. Pink Pocky and a writing reggae mix were included in the bag. I invented a new red lentil soup. Love. Hugs. I want an Amma hug.

words/phrases that I like today:
lodestars
bromides
magpie
rubicon
ritardando
whiffler
rentiers
olympian personage
sermonette
catamite

If Ron has the overall mien of an aging lefty in a college-town, Carl looks more like a hologram, flickering between Paul Bunyan and the drummer from Metallica—or maybe the bad kid in shop class. But Carl says he was terrified of power tools, which is ironic: he now hand builds harps out of sassafras.

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