No. 30, again.

It is official, I no longer have a concept of weekdays. I woke this morning at eleven, which is obscene if one knows my usual habits at all, and listened to newly gifted music in my familiar chair naked as the day I was born. No wonder guests (ie. my close friends/company) never sit in that chair. Haha. Windows thrown wide open, headphones, bare feet, bare everything, gross face, dirty hair, hopeless sinuses and not a care in the world. Cardboard boxes lined up behind me like a fortress, and I reveled in my current status quo: free.

Unemployment is a dangerous thing for me. I like it too much. Today I packed the rest of my belongings, ate chips on the bare floor while my sister rifled through the last of my closet (finding nothing that appealed to her, as per usual) and then grabbed DG down from the now-empty high shelf and got the hell out of moving-house dodge. We flew through town, finding a stride, familiar saddle worn in well, track standing a bit longer than usual. I love the break of winter.

Alfie welcomed my aproned self and my new baby up on the fifth floor of the shop, and I could smell the wood all the way from the elevator. Ross had fresh birch on the table saw and I stood there watching him work and inhaling. Wood is good. The red cross was lit up against the wall and something familiar like Springsteen was blasting. Wood piled on every surface, glass, you name it, the walls were covered as usual--floor to ceiling. What a set up, what a life. Alfie steered me in the direction of the open studio windows on the other side of the shop, welcoming us to the metal fire escape. We sat in that familiar window just like we did countless times last summer and I watched as he launched into his story and his eyes lit up while he described (in detail) his latest and greatest. Those French Canadian women! They are so beautiful that the rest of us never even have a shot with anyone. Haha, actually I was quite thrilled to hear him and to watch his hands flying in front of his face as he spoke with a new Francophone lilt hiding just under the surface of his spanglish tongue. Barely noticeable, but cute all the same. Old Alfie, it was very sincere. Time was up and I left the shop just in time to grab coffee before heading to the Studio.

The pressure washer was still fubar, so I hunkered down at my spot at the light table (hello, old friend) and drew out everything that has been chilling in my head of late. Good day. I left, my hand cramped and unable to draw anything else and flew down Main (perfect paving to fly down if one is lucky enough to score straight greens). I scored straight greens and was back in my neighborhood in minutes. This new bike is totally insane in the streets. I have no choice but to keep up. Because the entirety of my kitchen has been transplanted to my parent's basement for the time being (thanks guys), I have no other option but eating out, all the time. Today, my usual Monday choice: medium rare beef pho. I think the woman at my neighborhood Vietnamese shop thinks I am homeless. I walked in wearing my printing apron and she clapped her hands together aggressively, making her bob swing one way and then the other, and yelled out "Hi girl! Number 30, extra basil?!?!" far louder than necessary as there was only one painful looking Skylar/Cody date taking place in the back corner. "Yes please".

Pathetic, but delicious. Tomorrow: pick up photos, eat fruit, say hi to Mahrie in the kitchen, studio, reading, bed. I could get used to this.

MF