I should write when I can write...

rather than when my head is filled up with just-out-of-reach Zs...

My friend called today.
She asked if it is hot here.
I said, "uh...it is as warm as an oven that I've just baked something in...and then turned off for a while..."
I am.
a.
dork.

I have been told that the sunsets here are to be envied by the sun itself.
I think it is nearing that time, but I am inside, drapes closed.
Pretty, sunset-toned drapes.

I will peer out in a moment.
Also.
I visited the home of an artist today.
She is herself a rather stunning woman, with grace and beauty wafting out of her like the scent of fresh-baked bread.
...and her paintings...
are.
truly amazing.
They left me speechless.
Agog.
I wanted to climb inside them and feel the colors soaking into me.
i wanted to wrap myself in one of the canvases and dream the scene into my soul, through osmosis.
I will buy one.
Someday.
There is freedom and joy and richness and sharpness and life
in her brush strokes.
She has a website, but I fear that to see her works anything other than lifesized and in all their dimensions would be unfair.
Trust me.
And I will post a link, because I think they are still beautiful in their digital representations, but.
Oh, oh!
They are not done justice.

I just pulled back a drape...
in this dark room, empty.
Everyone's napping...long night we had.
Long day.
The sunset looks soft, and smudgy.
I think I'm getting gypped.
Or maybe that was earlier, at the Palm Readers' joint?
I could write ten pages on the waiting room:
the old man who switched between engish and another language, almost by sentence,
conversing with a woman who only spoke accented english--though she clearly understood his other language.
The scrawny, darty-eyed young man sporadically entertaining the baby in the stroller.
The woman in the "sit down and shut up" t-shirt, who would read my palm when my friend finished her reading with the other..."psychic"...
eh.
For apparent crazies, they were DAMNED precise.
Whatever.
I loved it.
It was the right thing to do on a hotter than an oven (during cool down) afternoon.
It was good.
The funeral rocked.
We snickered and laughed and made funnnnny jokes to each other the whole way through.
We harbor absolutely no reverence for the church itself and the man, well, yeah.
*cough*pedophile*cough*
so it was cool.
When the one dude launched into the Articles of damned FAITH (practically) I whispered to my friend, "i can't believe you forgot our cyanide capsules!" and when we stopped giggling, I pretended to use my finger nails to slash my wrists.
I am a heathen.
I will take the express train to hell, no wasting time in purgatory for me!

woot!

ok, so it's time to ready ourselves for dinner/drinks.
later---