Hello darling, it's turned into a beautiful sunny afternoon, humidity's breaking, and so, especially after a short nap, I'm feeling better, refreshed. I overdid it last couple of days with the housecleaning, and it's still not done, but I just wasn't up for any more today, especially with the air so thick. I could hardly get myself to move. But I went through, at least, motions. Edited yesterday evening's post -- what was I thinking? I think that was one of my single worst posts ever. Quality Control was AWOL. An icefilled tumbler of wine on top of my exhausted state didn't help. Also, I'd been in a tumultuous mood, for other reasons, wondering why someone with whom I'd thought I'd hit it off suddenly vanished. But he reappeared this morning... and it was as though the sun had come out. So I had to readjust my mood -- do a 180, like a big cruiseliner having to turn around. I mean, I was happy to be instantly happy again -- but then again, it took a while for the rest of me, somehow, to catch up to that.

I'm watching a youporn now, for my own edification, because I've had such a plain vanilla life, for the most part -- it's high time I find out about other flavors, that I've been craving, and I know others have too. So that's how it's done.

It's funny, having just written that -- this afternoon I was feeling very tired, yet restless - I lay down and thought if I could just fall asleep for real for ten minutes I would feel better, but my heart was racing, maybe too much salt in the packaged cheese tortellini (served with leftover kale-tomato-ground-turkey sauce) for lunch. D came home with the car, I got up and restlessly went downstairs, feeling hot and uncomfortable and out-of-sorts, and it occurred to me that something cool, delicious, and refreshing - an ice cream - might be restorative. So I took the car and drove into town, dreaming ice cream all the way -- pistachio, pistachio, oh that's what I want -- oh, and since I have $25 in my wallet, maybe a coffee too at the divine French bakery, and pick up a multigrain loaf for tomorrow's breakfast... I arrived at the bakery, and bought the bread, but frugality won out and I skipped the coffee -- besides, did I really need coffee in my semi-exhausted state? D possibly had some made, back at home. I crossed and walked a few storefronts up the sleepy, charming main street, to the ice cream shop, where young families lounged around on the steps and on the sidewalk, little children with their first cones. I perused the menu... prune armagnac, banana something or other, coffee of course -- I don't remember what else. But I was fixated on the pistachio - and there was none to be had - I verified with the clerk, who ruefully said "not today," and I said, "oh but that's really the only flavor I wanted right now," and the clerk understood, "I know, I know..."

And so I left the shop, drove back up the main street, and up the main highway, towards home. And arrived back home. No ice cream? No, the multigrain instead. That's no substitute. True, it isn't. But they didn't have pistachio.

I made do with delicious, molasses-infused dark bread, with a small wedge of local camembert pressed between, as I stood at the kitchen counter. Ah, like camembert ice cream.... oh it is divine.

Even if it isn't pistachio ice cream. Which, as I watch the balletic youporn now, which after hours of download, for an eight-minute film, I have arrived at the thrilling inevitable conclusion of -- I can completely see how a man would very very much like to hold out for strawberry-strawberry-banana.

love you
many kisses
hope your ice cream comes in all sorts of varieties darling
including 'prune armagnac' -- now I'm kicking myself a bit for not having availed myself - I wonder if it's anything like the elixir my aunt puts away late summers, when plums are in season, steeping for months, years even, in the recesses of her cool dark pantry, dark luscious fruit, purple-skinned and halved, pale flesh piled one on top of the next, quiescently dissolving, suffusing, letting go delicious flavor, perfume, intoxicatingly transforming, in the alchemy of angels, a gallon-jug of Pathmark vodka...