TAT.WAM.ASI.

so strange

The laundry is a problem. We have been putting it off these past two weeks and now it's Saturday and the dry cleaners on Gimpie Street is closed. I found that out after walking over there with our laundry in a big duffel bag. I walked past a building that handles scrap metal recycling and I felt unsafe for no other reason than that everyone keeps telling me how dangerous it is in Woodstock, don't go out after dark, be careful, two people were stabbed and killed on this street last month. A short man in a red sweater said "Good Morning!" and I felt bad for being so paranoid. Anyways, the dry cleaners which I was hoping was also a laundromat was closed and I had to turn around and head back to the loft. Brasley made me a Nescafé instant cappuccino. I tidied up and tried to solve the laundry problem but I think we're shit outta luck until Monday. That's pretty much been our whole morning. Staying in bed late and chilling. And yeah, we are still playing Pokémon go.

There is a saxaphonist downstairs at the Woodstock school for music which is on next floor down, right below us. This morning they are playing the song Summertime. I am listening to that and to the wind, the howling wind. The best word to describe it is battering. This loft/penthouse is actually a small box built up on the roof. The wind, the south easterly they call The Cape Doctor, the wind that blows down off the mountaintop, it comes to batter our walls, doors and windows and there is nothing at all to stand in its way because we are high up on the roof, above every other building. So as I lie in my bed with the white curtains drawn across window before me, and white walls on my left and right, I feel like I'm in a tent in the arctic tundra and the wind is battering the canvas. So there is the wind and there is the saxophone, which has stopped just now, precisely at the moment when I finished this paragraph. Oh, never mind, it seems the musician was just taking a break. He's playing again. I dreamed I was at a dinner party, and my hosts had three blonde children. They were eating some kind of mini wheats as a snack and one was complaining about it. I told him he was spoiled. I am not feeling as anxious as I was the past two days. I am breathing steadily and looking forward to today, which is B's 30th birthday.

On Repeat

I have very vivid memories of being a child, elementary school age, and renting this film over and over again from the blockbuster in our neighborhood. We can probably file this under Reasons Keeks Turned Out Bisexual.