1990.08

Wednesday, 08.29:

First day in Linda (Gregg)’s class. This whole circle—each telling her/his story—reminds me of an AA meeting. Not that I’ve ever been to one.


Thursday, 08.30:

Thursday morning downtown, waiting for my bus: thin bearded man with no shirt, no front teeth, wears black baseball cap, green bandanna around his neck, dirty blue cutoffs. Crosses street, asks blind man with black Labrador for change. Watching the blind man count it out, give it to him.


Downtown sign for WORLD’S BIGGEST CLOSET. SELF STORAGE. I wonder what they’d charge? Are some never retrieved?


Radio station billboard along freeway: REPORT ELVIS SIGHTINGS TO KLOL.


Home. Lying in hot bathtub: steaming water, cool sweating tiles. The slow dripping faucet seems such a big sound. Lights out, single candle burning. Completely centered.


David chopping basil. We’ll have to go all winter without this smell.


 

Friday, 08.31:

Ganymede and Eurydice nosing at each other in the herb garden. White and black commas, yin and yang. No harmony.


Talking to J.P. about people faxing their assignments to the English department: That’s too much technology.

Can’t you imagine intercepting someone’s fax in your dental work, like with radio signals? “Harry just started spouting bizarre statistics in the middle of the board meeting!”

The other day when Stevie Ray Vaughan died, one of the radio deejays was saying how they’d received so many wonderful faxes and would be sending them on to the family.

I wonder what Miss Manners would have to say about faxing one’s condolences?


Driving home on the freeway: black kitten suddenly ahead in the middle lane, terrified, being sucked along by the hurtling cars, spinning and leaping. A car grazes it and bats it into the next lane, beneath another car, bouncing like a ball. Horrible to watch. Both of us helpless.


The Honda died.