b r e a t h i n g
r o o m
28 Apr 98
up early, it's raining for real now, coming down harder the longer we wait for our cab (we had to call the dispatcher at last). The taxi has no defrost and we're passing tissues up to the front seat so the driver can wipe clear a small viewport, meanwhile the rain is coming down in torrents (later we learned 4 inches fell in half an hour), and through some quirk of human psychology, other drivers are acting even more reckless and insane than usual. A huge tractor-trailer cuts us off nearly ending our lives, but we make it to the airport and take off with little delay.
Back at home, I can't resist the huge pile of mail (CDs ordered, tapes traded for, other goodies) and e-mail. Briggs can't resist the backyard. The week we've been gone it's been hot as the dickens here and the rose bushes have burst into glorious bloom, some for the first time, really, in the three or so years since they were planted (others have been in the back or side of the house much longer). I urge B to take photos.
I decide I can't make it to the opening and afterparty of the Barbie Nation documentary in the city. Dick drops by and feeds us dinner. Late at night, I have a long talk with Arthur on the phone. It's been since New Year's since we've talked and we've missed each other. The conversation goes everywhere, spiraling around the topics of New Orleans, an ex-girlfriend of mine (Linda), Arthur, and rape, lasts until the batteries on my cordless phone (now beeping frantically) give out. I jot down where Arthur's voice cut off: "...but I didn't feel comfortable--"
advice: don't let their entanglements ruin this next phase moment opportunity.
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