Bloated stank vs. celestial friendship

messier-101-10995_1280It’s a study in contrasts, ain’t it, life.

I’m typing this while the bloated stank of the motorcycle, the badly tuned, badly maintained motorcycle, of the careless young person next door farts into the air.

And yet I am sustained in celestial friendship… when we are with our friends we remember the stars we are made of. Last night was a circle dinner, and it was nommy, and full of laughter and the shiny contentment of people who are well fed and feel listened to.

No hours last night. 470 words.  I do NOT know why the next chapter is turning into a just barely standing up routine, but it is.

Thanks to Mike for the opportunity to be of loving service yesterday.  I promised him half an hour of body work and I had to bike over there to give it to him and I was feeling so NOT LIKE GETTING ON A BIKE and it took til bloody 3 pm to make wordcount and then I remembered that the world can go hang but you keep prosocial promises to close friends and then of course when I got there, it was the last rays on Mike Beach and I wound up just sitting with him as he remained in a state rather close to that of a cheerfully somnolent lizard.  We were both tired from the musical night before. After a while Mike achieved verticality long enough to collapse himself down on the massage table in the living room. (The apartment gets the sun and all that glass makes it fookin hot like a spa or something.) I pummelled him for a while… he’s pretty much non-verbal.  I leave.  I knock the chain off my bike.  I call him in a panic. I put it back on. I tell him not to come downstairs.  I ride home, which is much nicer than riding to Mike’s place because the elevation trends downward on the ride home. And I’m in my goddamn shirtsleeves, and I just sat with a friend, and the weather is so glorious.  And now, all hot and sweating from my ride I have to prep beans for the Circle Dinner, and I now return you to the top of the post. Yay loop!