I went to a picnic. Women and dogs. I want out on that river. It calls to me as I sit here, inside, in the dark, seeing it in my mind. Persons, dogs, river. River, persons, dogs. River. Somebody said the Huron's so still it's like a lake. At that point it is, it's true.
I keep remembering bits of conversation I had today with one woman or another. It's funny---I've said to a couple of people how I think it's not so much that I'm losing my memory, or ability to remember, but that I'm often basically not making much of an effort to store things up there. Getting lazy about it. Like I was as a child. I had a remarkably bad memory in my early years. I floated along, more or less (not always happy-floaty), and it took me quite a while to understand how people retain, linearize, know where they are in chronological relativity to various markers. I would have had to stop and think, then, if you asked me what season it was. "Well," I'd think to myself, "Okay, it's, what, September? Wait---October. If it's October, and October's in the fall, it must be fall."
But I digress. Was gonna say that this thing, with thoughts of the day coming back to me, is like a different version of debriefing with a gf after a party. It doesn't tell me stories of another person's experience, but it's like me telling myself stories of mine. Like, hey, remember earlier today, when X said y? And then I'm like, yes, I do. (Duh.)
Yeah, I'm a little tired.
After seeing a disc of "Dexter" from Netflix last week, I got the itch to get intense with him, with that show. And by gum if the library didn't have Season One. It took visits to three branches on Friday to secure the rest of it, but I did. Tonight I finished watching the last one.
It's gruesome stuff, sort of, and sort of not. With the bloody stuff, I mean. But that's not as interesting as his being a character of psychological extreme. And how they construct him as our protagonist. One of the empathetic things about him (he's a serial killer, so one is perhaps wise not to identify too much) is his sense of isolation from others. How no one can see him, who he really is. He also talks to us (in voiceover) about his not being able to feel. There are even laugh lines on those subjects, which I like, and it's good to have numbness & detachment talked about in my teevee.
Supposed to be 80 degrees Farenheit tomorrow, and raining, on Memorial Day. That's okay by me. I've had lotsa good outside time this weekend. Finished what I wanted to finish out front, apart from filling the birdfeeder. (LISA: BUY BIRD SEED.) Yesterday afternoon a coworker who'd never been to my place rode by on her bike while I was raking yet more gravel out of the grass. I showed her my little jungle out back & did a quick house tour.
She wasn't superstitious about leaving a building via a different door from the one you use to come in. Is that not even a superstition people have? Is it something I made up in my head? No one I ask about it seems to have heard of it being a concern for anyone.
I remember plenty of things. It's just that a lot of them are possibly spurious tidbits like "Some people are superstitious about leaving a building by a different door from the one they came in through."