Saturday morning half-eaten bagel and juice in a mug that says LATTE on the side in tiny black letters with a takeout Fyxx coffee inching towards cold and bare feet attached to a body in a t-shirt and gitch. Saturday hair and face. Nothingness and true sun flooding the hardwood. I vacuumed, finally. It is funny what cleaning does for my psyche. Instacalm. I like to listen to the radio at top volume in the morning on Saturday (often to spite my neighbor who managed to party in the hallway until four. Thanks) and listen to all the stations that I think my Grandma would be listening to in her own home. Classical. CJOB, oldies--I mix it up. If I were capable of singing operatically, I would; but the radio is second best.
Scotch and Rags came over last night to drink and eat all the best tastes of Germany (beer and chocolate). This was after we went to Karen Asher's photography opening at Platform gallery just down the way from my home. When I do move, these are the nights I will miss. Scott told one million stories in the non-din of the red living room and I laughed one million times while Rags slumped against her man in contentedness. Someday I hope my marriage has a similar feel of social ease that theirs does. May that sentence read with respect and appreciation. I haven't been laughing as much I normally do, thus their company was welcomed. With week one of clean body and mind coming to a close, the dark veil is inching up and back, curtain-like. I wonder what will debut with the close of week two of no vices. God only knows.
I am off to Art City's Snowball, their annual winter carnival for the West Broadway community. Apparently, I am signed up to be a donkey complete with an elaborate velcro tail. Pictures will follow I am sure. Ensue more laughter. Good.