Natural World

There's a picture of Faulkner holding a mare by the muzzle. He looks small, in comparison to the horse. A copy of the photo hangs over my desk, and I look at him every day. I printed some things for Square Books (one of the great book- stores) in Oxford Missip and stopped by Rowen Oak a few times. The bookstore bundled complete sets of his work, in cheap paperbacks, sold them for $20, and I read him completely, while I was there. B and I both have the habit of reading an author completely, in the order written. Just an observation. At lunch TR said he had a tidbit that would make my day, did I want to hear it, and of course I did. He has Seven as a piano student (her real name) and he was telling her about the Emily Project and she said she had some friends coming into town that weekend and they'd come. Seven is hot, married to a heart surgeon, and has a hip group of friends. I took them all on an after-hours tour of the museum, when the hospital was interviewing a new surgeon, and I was on my game. When I'm on my game, I'm both informative and funny, and I must have been on my game because one of Seven's friends is in love with me, she says, and despite the fact that she's a lesbian, wouldn't mind fucking me. How weird is that? I'd pretty much given up intimacy, as a matter of course; I'm dirty, and bind up my hernia with an Ace bandage and a safety pin. Going to bed with me would be a lot like one of those scenarios where someone unscrews a hand and foot and crawls under the covers. I don't want to be indecipherable, I'd rather be slightly off-putting. On the other hand, I see where keystrokes fall, and getting laid would probably be a good thing. Finally got all the paperwork done on the Jeep: insurance, registration, title, and D drove the almost dead truck out to Cole's Park. End of an era. I no longer drive a truck, I drive a Jeep Liberty, in which everything works. I have turn signals, parking brakes, and an idle left foot that can tap out the rhythm of whatever music I hear in my head. And the ride itself, on heated leather seat, with a suspension system meant for someone other than a construction worker. Break on through to the other side. I have to pack up the pottery show tomorrow (later today, actually; I seem to have taken a nap) and D picks up the print show on Thursday that I need to install next week. The Sister City thing on Saturday, but I don't see any problem with that, it's just another event. D told me that after the Emily Project, and the big fund-raiser, that I needed to take some time off, and I agreed. I have a book to write and beets to pickle. Fall, going into winter, and you don't know what to expect, ten days below zero or an ice-storm. Maybe Indian Summer, with light that knocks you off your feet. A world of possibility.