My creative writing teacher asked me "if you made a playlist right now what would be the third song on it?"
without hesitation: "Snow Cherries From France." I still know what songs one through five are, too.
I miss my wife. I miss her dearly. I want to give her hugs and play her CDs, the kind of CDs you give someone in movies where you drive through colored leaves with the dappled sunlight falling through the car windows, when you're wearing that crummy old perfect sweater and the best sunglasses. Maybe you're driving to the coast where there are ocean-noises and the smell of salt water to make you forget, maybe you're not, maybe it's just somewhere where tree'd mountains give way to those scratchy tall grasses. Maybe you're in shorts and ratty old canvas tennis shoes, maybe not. Maybe we are listening to the milk-eyed mender or maybe it is little earthquakes. I think of you when I wake, amanda, every luminious two-in-the-morning with bon iver and no one call. I miss you dearly.
I read A Midsummer Night's Dream today at work. It is still my least favorite Shakespeare play; I like his comedies but this one is too caricatured for my taste, I am not fond of slapstick humour and magic love potions are full of it. I am not overfond of Romeo & Juliet either and this parody-version of it is still not my cup o tea.
somewhere there would be Here. In My Head. just for the
show you the roses, that brush off the snow, and open their petals again and again
I have a job now. I am manning a desk in the English office. right now I am quite hungry and too discouraged to say more. I will make some bread dough and try again.