Planned Events

I don't have an agenda, or even a schedule; my calendar is usually flipped to the month before last, because I liked the picture. An outhouse in Alaska or a very large catfish someone caught in China. Staying current is a concept I struggle with, though every two weeks I know what day it is, because it's written on my check, and I note that, somewhere in my brain, use it as a referent. What day this is, what I need to be doing; and in small talk at the pub, I'll occasionally notice what day of the week it is, and make a check mark, at random, as if something made sense. It's a joke, right? assuming. Drew sent me a quote that indicated whip-poor-wills never drank water, they just sucked the fluids from insects, and went their merry way. I've watched whip-poor-wills drink from a puddle, so I know this is a conceit, whatever you want to believe. I'm no judge, heaven forbid, the world is a wide and various space, but I do tend to notice things. Meaghan went home and cleaned up before her weekend with TR; that girl, at Market Street, has a beautiful ass; the poplar buds, on the ridge, are fully erupted. Spring is sprung, sing goddamn.