Friday, September 16, 2011

Start with where you are. A little breathless, a bit scattered. Unsuccessful go just now, still nice, but I didn't, couldn't, there was a turkey to get out of the oven, wash to get off the line, cats to feed. Heart still pounding, so close. Ran outside in panties and pink cashmere sweater, threw on dark green fleece over the lot to be decent, which only covered my panties so probably it looked as though I was wearing nothing underneath. Take clothing off the line, shirts and jeans, stuff into huge blue recycled bag. I figure no one's around, just cats and chickens. The neighbors of the chickens won't care, I've glimpsed them in deshabille. I look up: children, a boy & a girl, other neighbors, selling something for school. They're very nice children but I was total deer in headlights in my still slightly addled state, plus not-quite-ready for company R-rated outfit. Can you come back tomorrow? I said. (Damn! Only encouraging them. They will come back. I hope what they're selling isn't expensive, and/or is something I would like. Doubtful, on both.) Darling, we were in the treehouse, and then I was Dutch, and then I was in Kansas, and I was wearing first one outfit then another, couldn't quite get it fixed in my mind, black, fishnet, lace, I swear I was trying to design the thing and it wasn't working, and you were a minotaur, and then you were a dog, and then you were just beautiful you, and then just a part of you, and I was kissing you, and you were kissing me, various places, and then the batteries seemed to fade so I went back to toy #1 which packs a punch but is so loud I get distracted all over again getting used to it but then I do and actually I like the shape of it better, more realistic for this hetero woman. Don't let me forget I put in the root vegetables - a pan of them, squash, onion, carrot - in at 6:15, I should take them out by seven. 6:40 now. This morning - no, it was afternoon, instead of C.R. - no, that's not right, it was around 11:40 and blessedly I was off by noon, and it was seismic and went on & on and I could hardly believe it for moments & moments on end, like that rolling earthquake a few days before the hurricane that originated in Virginia and sent powerful shivers all the way to Canada because the ground here is so soft, or something. Doorjambs in Hudson in the old brick buildings shifted & moved and D's had some strange sudden calls for unusual repairs that he suspects are due to the quake. Oh those children are going to tell their daddy that I wasn't wearing much - or maybe they're just so sweet that they weren't so observant. I was holding that big huge Ikea bag for decency. Oh, it's okay, don't worry, it's just that - I'm on a deadend street, nobody ever comes over, and wouldn't you know - the moment I sneak out. Can you tell the state I'm in? Oh I'm okay, really, and yet if I could only have reached that pinnacle I would have been thrilled & happy and leapt out of bed into my sandals and said all rightee, what's next. So what else is new with me? I've been in or around the house all week, finally today had the car for a bit, to go to the library and to the CSA for the week's share. Such a big huge event in my week! I showered & shampooed my hair (this now, was after my vigorous workout to talk shows that I normally don't watch - I'm not that sort of housewife) and dressed in my pretty Pucci top & black skirt and the cardigan half of a black cashmere twinset, and spritzed on perfume (oh how I love it) and clasped on my watch (love wearing that too), and donned sunglasses and my nice black wedge heeled sandals and flew out the door and thought of you all the way as I drove along rural roads, past cornfields whose stalks have been cutdown, past tractors, and so much unfortunate roadkill (I'm always startled, including on my walk - this morning, a dead frog, eyes still open, an unfortunate garter snake; on my drive, a hedgehog. Tragic, seriously. Horrible planet, and we just keep mowing past all this wonderful life in these big huge machines. Somewhere a hedgehog family is missing possibly an extremely key member, and by that I'm not anthropomorphizing.) Okay darling, I'm settling down from getting myself to the 98% state and no further before all sorts of everything else intervened. I'm still in the pink cashmere cardigan (that I sleep in, and I had to pretend it was black fishnet - which just stretches my credulity when I'm so vividly trying to imagine not only the look but feel of you and disregarding buzz and batteries and need for squirts of babelube) paired now with that diaphanous summery skirt, not a bad combination, for the aerie. My cat Gwynnie looks just like a little lapdog that was on Anderson C. - the little dog, from Beverly Hills, is so cute, it has an agent. When I pulled into the driveway with my haul from the CSA cats & chickens scattered, and then Gwynnie ran up to greet me. You're so cute you need an agent I told her, reaching down to pet her. The bags of produce are still downstairs, I should unpack them: carrots with their tops, peppers, tomatoes - peaches still. My God, I am so sick of peaches, plus I thought they were a rather delicate stone fruit - how can it be that we've had two solid months of them. I am still eating mazurek made from a basket from two weeks ago, last week's are still in the fridge - and today, another batch. Next week, says the newsletter: apples. Before I left D came home with the car (of course) and with basil from a client's garden - oh good more pesto. And on my way home I stopped at a stand way way back from a cornfield - and picked up six ears of fresh corn, for $2.50. Bookend supplements to the CSA haul. This post is a mess. Thomas Higginson, E.D.'s friend, would hate me. He prized form over content, polishing, working prose or poetry over, thus serving and showing proper respect to the Art. That form should contain the content much like a corset (here we go again).

Do you know that I've been recently - in Brooklyn, at a shop - measured as a 40DDD? It is very hard for my form to be contained by a corset, in any way. And so perhaps my hybrid prose-poem love letters reflects that busting out all over. I love it myself. I hope you do too. Every inch of you, oh my darling love, wherever you are, dikes or wheatfields.

All my love, dearest dearest.
Must run w/out proofing. 7:10. Root vegetables more than done.

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