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Clouds pink like almost raw meat, or blushing cherubs, but I am starving and so they look like more like perfectly done pork.

Throwing my big net out over today, I come back with:
Coffee drunk half too hot and half too cold in bone jittering awkwardness. I prefer dates to marked (stressing both syllables of this here past participle, a la Keats, if you will) un-dates. But people can be talked to whatever your relation to them, as prison visits and victim-perpetrator reunions in highly cctv’ed ante-rooms has shown.

I also tackled excessively narrow spiral stairs in heels worn to guard against vulnerability, and which led instead to an intensely vulnerable and vertiginous five minutes of cursing the genius who invented gradated spiral stairs, the treads of which get narrower the higher you ascend. Trippy, yes, and authentically sixteenth century, but a pain in the arse – and thighs – nevertheless.

I have had this in my head for days,weeks, months, years: The Grateful Dead’s Uncle John’s Band. it never ever fails to calm and soothe and mollify. I like songs with happy tunes and wistful lyrics. I am also, it seems, a fan of bands with poor hair choices, aging members and a predilection for mashing genre to a funky pulp.

On which note (mashing), I had a really terribly banana cheesecake last night. Bad enough to force a reconsideration of both bananas and cheesecake. Ugh.

I like feeling like I might be ok. This hasn’t been a prevalent feeling recently, but more on account of pain in my kidneys and a killing sore throat than anything more serious. I just dislike the drawing in and pulling close of winter when there is nothing but thought and tea to draw in or pull close. Cyclically, I imagine there will be more winters in my life to fill with significant others, and perhaps I should enjoy the freedom that being without anybody else to coat-tail and consider brings. More to the point, perhaps it is none of my business to nose forward and try peep at what those three terrifying fate-ladies have in store for me. For now, life is a whirl of fourteenth century carols and new friends. It is enough.