I got a letter today from my old friend and mentor. Teacher. Her doing "fairly well," she says, is probably not as good as my reported "fairly well" doing. I look up "atrial fibrillation" and try to imagine a constant threat of blacking out. The letter was typed but for the greeting and the sign-off part that I know there's a name for cuz it came up in some class years ago. The handwritten parts look like her, and I savor them. She is always strong, to me, and will never not be strong, no matter how frail.
Things taste like soap. Things smell intense. I declare it hormones.
This very freezing cold thing has a lot of my attention.
I went out on Monday night, of all things. Theaters and museums and even some restaurants are closed on Mondays. Seems like it's the least likely night for going out. And that seems like not much of a thing to say to reflect the evening. Guess I just want to note the night out, and to have had it. Voilà--- that's both.
This is my skin, and this is me in it. Strange; novel; natural; right; hmmm; okay.
Now it's time to get underneath the comforter for several hours.