Soap Flakes

First you catch the rabbit. One of my favorite lines in a recipe. Another is: first you clean the turtle. The turtle line is in a great recipe for turtle soup, but if you've never taken a turtle apart, you have no idea how little information is exchanged in that line. They have body parts with which I am unfamiliar. They have actual sand-bags they flood and void with water to control buoyancy. Thought Interruptus, Samara calls and we hash out plans for the western trip, and she had either given me, or I had written down the wrong dates. My system barely works, ask Kim, he solved my glitter problem in a paragraph, that I'm going to send Glenn so he can post it. But the beat goes on. I have to get back to the glitter, however, I might be able to stay through Rhea's high school graduation. I don't relate, at all, with needing someone see me do something. I couldn't be more antipodal. At great expense, I can probably fulfill some expectations. I'm resistant to the whole notion. But ok. I'll see some people I'd love to see, and several that I'd prefer never to see again. Fucking soap flakes. The Bridge's Girls had used the classroom as a dressing-room, and there was a lot of glitter and feathers scattered about. Fuck me, I think, this is like a bad dream. They carved soap, and the shavings are everywhere, there is glitter AND feathers. The soap flakes, where they had fallen on the floor, especially where they'd been stepped on, locked glitter and feathers in a matrix and I had to scrape it up with a spatula. You clean up enough messes, you know what you need to do. I'm good with babies, it's what, a gift, or something? A curse. I've only been a mid-wife once, and I didn't like it. Too much information. Goddamn, excuse me, I thought we were running parallel tracks. Staying a week in western Colorado is a good thing, could be, I could touch base, see wherefrom this sprung. I have something on good advice, something. Then everything falls in to a kind of hell.