scrawls
still cheaper than therapy*


It was white in Vienna last night, on the sidewalk and the trees and the grass, cars wrapped in cloud with headlights showing the little rushing dancers. I remember driving in snow, the way it comes at you all hypnotic-like, and even now though i am not moving fast it comes in the same way when i look up, appearing out of nothingness, tracing paths that add up to chaos. The treeboughs in the park are thoroughly laden but it's only the first one, this year, this night, so across the street nobody has put up the dachlawine signs yet. Clearly this must mean there is no danger.

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thanksgiving 2010 (i have found the best problem ever)
There are three open bottles of wine in my house. I delegate bringing wine, it's easier, and then this is what i end up with. What ever shall i do ...

Salud.

P brought an appetizer, consisting of feta and salad and stuffed mushrooms and those breaded sage leaves, and i don't know what she does to the mushrooms but she nails it every time.

The first day i cubed the breads, made a couple of potatoes, and the back-of-the-can pumpkin pie, and brined the turkey breasts overnight in the fridge, nothing special, brown sugar and salt, though as a first time briner i think the attempt is already worth something.

The second day i started early and made the apple strudel from the frozen section, and rolls, and made a schedule: if dinner is set for 6, then the turkeys should go in at 3, the dressing at 5 to brown, before the last rolls, i do not have a big oven so had to time when which things would be in, that they all fit. Note to self - skip the roast veg. Not worth the space, not when something else could fit, not really stellar anyway, at least, my god, if i could ever find acorn squash, the butternut was good, but i miss it even as a late discovery. I have the maple. Note to self - Naschmarkt, genius. Freedom of dressing with apples and speck and oregano, sage, three kinds of bread. Creamed corn with that Italian ham. Mashed potatoes with Gorgonzola and the rest of the condensed milk - since i can find it now. Gravy (since C had mentioned it, i don't eat it, usually, so it slips my mind, so good thing he had) from a packet. Good cranberry and i think i don't even remember the difference, they're smaller, sure, but it's been so long. And then the pie and the apple strudel and the browncake from Y, with the almonds over, and while M didn't come (i feel good for inviting him) i think even if he had there would have been enough leftovers for at least a day's dinner and lunch and dinner again, for the two of us. E likes the turkey best anyway so all the dressing and potatoes are mine. Mine! Joy.

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per second until
the sun is shining, now, in november. E asks if it is summer, points out the little white clouds, the big white clouds, moving fast against each other. I feel the wind in my hair, distantly, and i can hardly remember what it is to be cold. I feel like a great bear with the heart of a hummingbird, lost and found in the same moment. Flying time is glacial-still, running and notmoving, interminable, and i know, i know this will echo, i know this.

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i think i play my cards close in, without meaning to. a door closes, a door opens, a door swings back and forth in a saloon, moving stripes of light on the dust in the air. i look up.

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if it doesn't get easier, at least i am keeping my humanity
if living well is the best revenge, equally, living well is the best tribute. how is that possible? i saw his reflection in la joconde, before the age of digital cameras ... doesn't that mean you live forever? find peace, luke, old friend.

I hate when this happens.

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construction again and some fluorescent yellow vests direct traffic like matadors, flourishing their hands with every lane change. All stop! Now you! And stop again! The traffic is backed up badly on the main road. Some of the billboards have been taken down and there is a vista of holes, of cranes, of diggers and bulldozers, of some massively tall and solid and repeatedly loud machine that hammers holes in the ground. E covers her ears as we go by. Something on the internet said it would rain all week but there's not been a drop, it's always wrong but not enough to bet on so we go with the stroller and raincover, with the little pink umbrella, useless things in the end, i bring a fleece blanket when we go and teach her to say snug as a bug in a rug.

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a white half-moon, a black sky. i wish i knew what the future tasted like. Is it salty, is it sweet? Maybe it smells like an inkjet printer, maybe like a rich old forest. Maybe like fire. i find the raclette that's been in the fridge for so long already, i still have no options, no implementry, and i melt it over an omelet, good mushrooms, good morning.

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note to self
ninety-five hundred is ninety-five hundred more than two weeks ago, but with the month a third gone it'll probably finish before i do. That's okay. A kick in the pants is a kick in the pants ... and i am happier about every new distraction. not stopping, not now, maybe not ever, but i will forgive myself if it's done in december, done in january.

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Fifty thousand words is a lot of words.

Just saying.

For the record, google docs has a word count.

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it is november. why is my computer with all my notes on it in the fucking shop? ARGH. Fine. Does this mean i have to do yoga instead? or does google docs have a word count? Wish me luck.

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