Grey sweater and blue jeans? No, blue skies. Pink gift turtleneck, freshly laundered, and pink cashmere sweater. Fierce brown denim. Actually, not so fierce now - faded. Must iron back pocket. Press sweater too. Damn, the binding's frayed at the top button. Must mend. Everything's broken. Scissors blunt. Can't start spool of pink thread. Fortunately there's another already started. Use nail scissors to clip threads. Never was good at mending. Amateurish. Best I can. Tuck neck under, no one will ever know.
12/27/09 (Brooklyn)
Vivid dreams last night, narrative, remember only tiny fragments this morning. Am in a room with 2 men, both of whom want me. One is John, a young smiling John, sitting on a chair across from where I’m seated on the edge of a bed, going through the motions of trying to mend something with needle and thread. The second man is seated to my left – also John, I think, now older. I become flustered, self-conscious with the mending and leave.
Grey sweater and blue jeans? No, blue skies. Pink gift turtleneck, freshly laundered, and pink cashmere sweater. Fierce brown denim. Actually, not so fierce now - faded. Must iron back pocket. Press sweater too. Damn, the binding's frayed at the top button. Must mend. Everything's broken. Scissors blunt. Can't start spool of pink thread. Fortunately there's another already started. Use nail scissors to clip threads. Never was good at mending. Amateurish. Best I can. Tuck neck under, no one will ever know.
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