it rained all week. smell of wet metal and gutter sparrows. Bacons' grandfather's old bomber jacket molded in his closet and i felt sad for him. clients at Laguna Honda started speaking more clearly, though I still did not know what to say in many cases. floating above the fountain with dear Val, holding a cup of chai, i recall what she said a while back--"Anxiety can be mistaken for devotion." Anxiety cannot be measured as a unit of work, it is somewhere between static and energy. then, it stopped raining, or--it sluiced lightly and J. and i sat in the dark, with the bedroom window open, looking out into the street. until we decided to take the bus to his work van in Daly City for donuts. then, the day and the sun. to greet the sea with some coyote dogs. we kept going, where i resisted frosted glass tables at ikea. the cheer of swedish meatballs and Mariah Carey Christmas squeals made me eager, wistful, full of sunday night dread. until J. started pulling me around on the hand truck--and i let it go. decisions were made. a small, low table so now i can see to type this.
