Monday, April 30, 2007

Dear everyone,

April is over, and we are now 1/3 of the way through the year. I worry that I value milestones so much that I keep dividing my world into ever-smaller parts, and that eventually I'll be stopping to evaluate every three seconds. Maybe I should just let things happen without pausing to check if I've reacted to them correctly, if I've gotten what I needed from them, and given them what they needed, too.

The greatest part of April was easily my boat, and I spent some of the most pleasant hours of my year so far sitting cross-legged on the floor, ponytailed and in old ripped jeans and singing along with the stereo, stabbing myself in the hands and frequently failing. But still building something. Thanks for the inspiration, MOHAI; I'm glad we finally met.

Also great was that Julie came back to town for about twelve seconds, that Nick started making beer, and that West Coast Paul finally moved to Seattle, which he's been halfway planning to do for the entire ten years I've known him.

I have been so well behaved for most of the last four months, working away at improving everything like an industrious little furry creature and not being even a little bit trampy. (Which is less of a decision and more of my attention being stubbornly focused in a largely unrequited direction and refusing to listen to reason, but it's still probably good for me.) Boys in Seattle have been so, so funny lately, thinking that I won't notice that we're ending half of our thumb wrestling matches holding hands. It's like they all spontaneously decided that this is the new way to go wooing. I'm still not sure if I like it. You're very funny and cute and I like your hair, boys of Seattle, but if you don't watch it I'll have to reinstitute the no touching rule, and none of us want that.

Today I'm pretty sure I was followed halfway home by a robin holding a bug in its beak. For blocks and blocks it would fly to the tree just ahead of me and then, once I reached that tree, fly to the next one. Most peculiar behavior; I don't know why these things happen to me. Perhaps I am Snow White in disguise. Or maybe I look like a bug. Hard to say, really.

And tomorrow is May Day, the one day of the year that you are practically required to skip at least a little bit and smile at strangers even though you don't like their pants. I'll be out of work all day going to doctors and dentists, being prodded from head to toe and lectured about my dissolute lifestyle, but also smiling at strangers all over town. I like you best in spring because it's the one time of year that I can count on you to be ridiculously enthusiastic about anything, so that when I run in your door and shout, "Do a somersault!" or "Let's go pick blackberries!" or "Holy shit, dumptrucks are so awesome!" you're right there with me. If you want to leave flowers or communist propaganda on my doorstep, you can go right ahead. You'd have to ring my doorbell and run away, but if I catch you I get to kiss you. That's how these things go on May Day.

In the spring I want to kiss you like I was made of cotton candy, soft and sweet and disappearing in the rain.

I don't have any plans right now. Things happen so quickly these days that it's tough to keep on top of it all, which is probably better for me because it also doesn't give me much time to overthink anything. I'll be in New York at the end of the month, and other than that we're just going to have a good time. I have that sidewalk feeling, like when you know someone is walking behind you but you can't see them yet. Something is going to happen.

With any luck, we'll be ready for it when it gets here.


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