After Consideration

It's not my imagination. Megan knows how hot she is, coming into the pub, to get her lunch 'to go', wearing a spotted leotard and ballet shoes. I mean, come on. When Hayden bats her eyes. These are young girls, but they use their bodies like weapons. I'm not immune, but I require conversation. I'd rather just rub someone's ankles and speculate. A habit I developed dating dancers. Not kinky, more like a physical therapist with time on his hands. Kohled eyes don't necessarily invite intimacy, though they surely lead you down that path. As signs are surely information, they are not really language. Indicators, maybe. Shane's work is very sensual, not too far afield to say sexual, the arching female form with proud pudenda. As per D's thesis, I could write a book about this, or make a book, with images, that seemed to make a kind of sense; whether or not it made any sense would probably be left up to you. The reader. I'm torn here, mostly, moistly, a reader myself, with a labile connection. I know someone is making a mistake. The tears are just an outward manifestation of something deeply felt. A particular scene in a movie. Whatever strums your heart-strings. I know I don't know what anyone else is thinking, everyone's mind is locked into a particular way of seeing; but there are actual things that happen, rolls of thunder, lightning flashes, blackberry blooms, that defy definition. The best you can do is not stumble on the obvious. I need to go to town tomorrow, start laying in supplies for a weekend house guest. Fell back asleep on the sofa, then woke to broken light. Hadn't rained for several hours, so I threw on some clothes, walked down the driveway and headed to town. Rain, forever, in the forecast, but I figure I can drive in and get the truck back down, if I make a fast trip. Stop at the lake and make a list, then mark the things that are heavy, shop like a madman, zip back to the ridge, drive up, unload, get the truck back down, just as the first drops fall. Starved, because I hadn't eaten yet today, settled on baked beans and fried eggs on toast, thinking I might get back outside and do some work, but it drizzles all day, and it's cold again. I retreat into fiction, as I often do, and stay there the rest of the day. I finally call Pegi, to tell her we need help for tomorrow, I need help, setting up for the event the next day, that I need to finish installing the show, and somebody needs to help K with the tables and chairs. I've got a list a mile long and I'll be cutting some corners, but Pegi assures me she has someone to help with the grunt work, I can finish installing the show, which is my job, preparator, after all.