Listening to that old standard, Phoebe Snow. Every song, every note is so familiar, so warmly predictable, "Please god, help me. I'm so poor. Send me something to wear and something to eat. Because I want to cross over to Easy Street." That's the end. It reminds me of this time of year. Suddenly, as I walked into the Bricker at the end of my workday, the beginning of my vacation, some of her vocals started running through my head and I knew it was time to put her on. I came upstairs and landed in the queen with dog and cat and the laptop, album playing for us in the dark afternoon. I think it may be naptime, don't you? The animals...my family...are showing me the way to sleepyseedsville.
I have a nice evening to look forward to: sushi dinner with friends at a friend's and then gingerbread and eggnog at another friend's. I wish my current crush was going to be there, eager to kiss me. Of course I hold this fomenting obsession close to my chest..like the most fragile elaborate seashell which I must carry for miles with the dearest wish that none of its curlicues get knocked off or banged into. It is held so painstakingly that not even he knows of my desire. Ooh, I feel a little naughty thinking of it as I wrap my arms around the naptime pillow.
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