Wednesday, January 5, 2011

I may have created an impression that I don't care about material possessions, that there isn't an acquisitive part of me but that isn't true. There are things that I would like, that if we had any money at all (beyond meeting the basic needs of gas, kerosene, rosé, camembert, various (non-health) insurances, Netflix, and Juno) - that I would like, in no particular order except as they spring to mind.

fresh aprons in colorful Provence-inspired cotton prints
matching (or lovely at any rate) potholders & oven mitts
David Gray and Bob Schneider CDs - all they've written
two pairs of Merrills walking shoes
a wristwatch with a non-leather band
a beautiful, sexy piece of jewelry simply because, from love or adoration (like the pendants you gave me - the first and last pieces of jewelry anyone ever gave me)
a cellphone (iPhone?)
new underwear (pretty and/or sexy)
good reading glasses, several pairs
a beautiful summer dress and the right sandals or shoes to go with it
a subscription to the local CSA, so that in summer months I can cut flowers from their border every week
now I'm getting a bit grand - but the help of a landscaping service, so that I can have the garden of my dreams - but not kill myself (or D) weeding & mowing
a pizza stone

That's about it. Lunches out, a few romantic or exciting dinners in a year. Companionship.

An endless supply of birdseed - the good husked sunflower kernel kind - so it never runs out. Cat food plates that fill themselves.

Page hits that I can understand, that deliver emotional sustenance like a kiss. Random google-image "woodstock" hits from who-knows-where don't do it.

Actually, yours from Broomfield do great. Thank you so much for them. But can you tell things are shifting? Or are they? Things are mixed-up at the moment. At a dinner table I told a close relative, a woman my age, about you, the transformative effect you had when you contacted me two-and-a-half years ago, and as I haltingly talked (because the topic wasn't easy for me, what to say, how to say it) an interested other was listening, whom I saw smile because I think he had familiarity with the tale, and who as it turns out I quite like, or suddenly seem to. He, like you, knows me very very well - now.

Anything else I might like goes beyond the corporeal realm of fresh aprons, underwear and potholders. A lover whom I love whom I can actually kiss. I can actually deal with moral ambiguity, tortured Catholic guilt even. But this endless everyone (or is it me?) being behind glass, forever out of reach?

I never believed in the Child's Garden version of heaven - but I don't know - it's almost the only comfort I can conjure for myself. It's so tortuous now, seemingly playfully gratuitously so (how does anyone ever get together?, I think I look all right, better than all right)

how did I get here? am I supposed to be here?

oh just call this post, lola sings the blues

oh your page hits just punched right through the sea wall -

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