She’s someone I’ve only met the once, IRL, but this comment of hers on a help forum is one of the many reasons I like her.
Yesterday I put all my concert tickets in my scrapbook, aired out my comforter, finally started sorting through paperwork, and transcribed a letter mOm wrote to me and Jeff in May of 1977; I have four more to go, I picked the short one with the biggest handwriting first.
Earlier this week I baked a salmon. I cleaned the kitchen like a fiend afterwards and got all the scraps and bones out of the house, which is the only thing that prevented the house from smelling like a trawler.
On July 14 1999 I got to see Hole’s last ever concert. That’s how old I am, heavy sigh. I didn’t put anything in order, and I actually threw out some memorabilia, which is amazing. I’m currently making a list of things to sell preparatory to downsizing. Jeff and I are here until next summer at least, but after that who knows. I feel a wind blowing through my life.
Yesterday I communed with a moth in a rather unusual manner. It flew into Jeff’s car and hid, and then announced its presence by flying into my face (cue subdued screaming, which seems to be my second language these days). I encouraged it to crawl onto my hand and then held it out the window, expecting it to… well, candidly, be ripped off my hand. Instead, it grimly turned into the wind and clung on at 60 kmph (37 mph for those of you who have not metriculated). It finally picked its own time to fly out of the car, so it was a reminder that life will not only find a way, it will be rather chaotic and self-willed about it.
I hung granddad’s watch over my bed so I can be reminded of how time is sliding by. Time’s winged chariot is double parked, kids.
