In real news for me, which I am confidently aware will be of no conceivable use to even my mother…..
Church meeting kinda interesting. I talked too much, as per Save Us usual. Rev Katie gave us YET another book to read. She must think we’re Unitarians er something.
Yay! Jeff, beautiful Jeff, was up and willing to watch another episode of The Wire. Yip, yip, aroo. Oh, Jimmy, how we love your drunken ways. One of the best drunks ever; Dominic West’s face becomes so rubbery and simian that you pull your face away from the tv, convinced you’ll be smelling the ferocious eyescalding breath on him if you get any closer.
I love how they don’t translate stuff in other languages. You can either keep up or not.
I love my car. I love my car. Ziva is not a vehicle, she is an obsession. Too soon, by rust and accident and use and expense she will be torn from my bosom…. now wait a second. That’s too weird an image…. I plant my ass in the middle of her all the time, to refer to her as being torn from my bosom would mean that she would a) have to get a lot smaller b) lose A LOT of mass c) travel through my body, like ew, while in that state and ….. wait a minute. All I have to do to make that image real is get out of the car, glue (something that won’t damage the finish) my shirt to the car, and have somebody else drive away from me. Then she’d be torn from my bosom, and that would actually kind of make sense, although for the most striking visualization of this idea a cartoon or comic would probably work best. And that way I don’t have to damage the car, always a plus. For the image to work perfectly I’d be left naked with a patch of hair torn off, but a drawing of me, so I can avoid the hassle of you know, like, going through it. You know, like that Despair chica from the Sandman books. That’s how terrible I’m going to feel when she goes. But I can still encompass, with a glowing, merciful joy, what it’s like to sit in her and feel the engine purr into life. To feel the IMMENSE CASCADES of heat that come out of those vents when it’s cold. I’m sure I mentioned earlier how much I like my car.
Keith is looking for work. Katie is working too much.
I blow kisses at Sue Sparlin, Karen Greenland, Carol Becken, and Rev Katie of course.
Parlous times they may be, but I am not alone. I feel a great connectedness, which is only increased when shared.