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Archive for August, 2010

there is a sweet, sweet corner of my heart given over to the month of may.  but i confess, august/september is rapidly becoming my favorite time of year.

on a sultry summer evening when all i really want is an orange and a glass of ice-nine, it’s hard to summon up the courage to braise, saute, or roast. in fact, it’s hard to make a grilled cheese sandwich.  i do love smoothies and cucumber salads and tuna sandwiches.  but when that first touch of cooler, dryer air comes, it comes as a relief, because in another few weeks there’ll be chilis and gumbos and fall-weather foods galore.  at the moment i’m lovingly anticipating a blueberry-banana bread the likes of which this town has never seen.

i’ve been telling myself that when i find myself wishing i were buying school supplies come august, that i’ll know it’s time to start applying to grad school.  but this year at least, the impulse was supplanted by a need (and, well, a desire) for household goods. my beloved roommate is moving out this week, and taking with her assorted items she purchased: the dish towels.  the measuring cups.  the matching set of coffee mugs.  i’ve got a list going of things that need replacing, but today I gathered the indispensables, and along the way i allowed myself a splendid little teapot.  autumn is the time for teapots.

it may be sunny and in the eighties today, but i’m going to go have myself a cup of tea — possibly iced — and a slab of banana bread.

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but i’m home, after a madcap dash across the great lakes and down the eastern seaboard.

i must confess i’m not quite ready to be back.

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i’m getting out of this city for a little while.  not long, just enough to get quick tastes of a place i know i love and a couple of places i think i will.  i’m two days beyond an out-of-control week, and just can’t get it through my head that something i’ve waited long for is really happening.

it’s a restrained kind of freedom, though, because of course i’ll come back to all the same routines and responsibilities.  it’s just a breather.  and i love my life, i do.  but sometimes i find it tempting: the idea of just completely running away.  i’m not good at abandoning things — i maintain connections long and deep and for god’s sake, it’s my vacation and i’ve already checked my work email four times.  i wish i knew how to let go.

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dear sir,

i received your message this morning and wish very much that i felt safe directly replying in the manner you richly deserve. unfortunately, it’s out of the question.  but here, i will be very clear:

i don’t need to hear from your references.  i know more than enough about you already.  you are not going to live in my beautiful home, because, sadly, i know what happens when women invite you into their homes.  you are not “also a young professional with a quiet lifestyle.”  you are not “also” anything — you are not the least bit like me.  you have no control and no conscience.

i’m sure you were keen on the idea of moving in with some unsuspecting young thing, and i hate to disappoint you.

but you are a raping piece of shit and i hope you rot in hell.

sincerely,

&c.

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