snow flakes with plastic forks
I was lazy today, and it found it comforting that so was Joe. As if it somehow was a connection, and like it might not have mattered if he had stayed all night.
Even though I know it would matter.
No matter what sort of naked freakishness takes place in the dark, there's something about rolling over with bad breath and having a sleeping boy's arm entangled around your neck (which seems to always be the position) that is far more intimate than the events that got the boy there.
Like, it was non-threatening to kiss Joe goodbye at seven a.m. - wrapped in a blanket and all disheveled - but kissing him goodbye in sunlight and soberness would have been difficult.
So I stopped by to see him tonight, to drop off his Xmas gift (which he left here) and to assure him that I'm not in misery. Hopefully my presence alone didn't imply misery.
Because I'm not miserable.
I appreciate the hell out of Joe - the world's sweetest man.
Amelia and I were on our way out for pizza when we stopped in at Joe's, and the pizza was comforting.
I love Mother Bear's pizza, and sitting by the wood stove.
At the big Big Read liquor store we searched for Stella Artois. Read back a year and you'll find a rant about that beer and how much I love it.
About that time this tiny, short, little manager man pops his head in and tells us that Stella won't distribute to Indiana - no matter how much he begs and assures them that he'll sell an ass load (i.e. more than a butt load and slightly less than a crap load, which is then less than a shit load).
So he pointed me to 1664 which is a FRENCH beer, nonetheless, and after assuring me it was comparable he expressed his desire for me to return and tell him my opinion on his suggestion.
I drank a six pack, and though it is smooth and light and nutty like Stella, it really is no Stella and I'm going to have to initiate a smuggle from another state.
Belgium bastards.
Amelia and I lounged on my down sofa and drank and smoked and talked about family, which is good for me because you all know how little I write about them. I need to talk this stuff out, sometimes, though, and understand my own thoughts.
We reached the conclusion of Tom Robbins at the end of his novel, Still Life With Woodpecker, which is, "It's never too late to have a happy childhood."
Then I loaned her that book to read. It's the one I read over Xmas break, and I tend to give my recent literary conquest to a friend so that I have someone with whom to hash over the novel. I reccomend this one, too, to all of you.
But it made me feel closer to Kasey. Yes, he is not yet gone from my cycles of thinking. Actually, after reading this book (which I read per his suggestion) I became more convinced that he will one day resurface.
The book explained to me the mysteries of the moon, which Kasey alluded to, and the impact of a pack of Camels, which I solely smoke, and the answer to how to make love stay.
Everyone wants to know how to make love stay, and this book spells it out.
The book also entranced me with the romance of solitude; a romance I intend to revel in.
I think Kasey's middle name is Woodpecker.
Tomorrow is Saturday - which bears no signifigance considering how drunk and unproductive I've been during the work-week - and it will find me at Yogi's.
I've hated that bar since my first week here in Bloomington when they carded me at six p.m. on a Thursday to take a piss. Joe's over the joint, too, which is why he called me and we went to Nick's last night.
Or maybe, he had every intention of tagging my ass and that's why he called, but I don't think so. Joe is not the captain of premeditation.
But Joe got an idea that my friend Amelia ought to meet his friend Rich - who I've only met once when Joe bummed from him a cigarette for me.
I feel bad, because I love Amelia, and wish only the best for her, and I don't know shit about this guy and I'm not quite sure Joe understood my meaning when I told him she was interested in meeting some guys.
Hell, I'm interested in meeting some guys, too, and he's not making any phone calls for me.
But it's plans, and it could be amusing. Because where Amelia and I are present and drinking, there is amusement.
Sometimes I approach life like an orgasm, so if I try to hard it will interupt the process, and I have to just relax and close my eyes and let nature take over and hope that things are pleasant.
