It’s all the words that aren’t said
I woke from a deep nap that made me hop up and get going. Went to see mom and she was ironing her uniforms for the the week. It’s disconcerting to see her older, her routines having taken on some sort of death march, her gaze having died out almost.
I picked up G afterwards and headed towards Bacchanal but got caught in some serious traffic from a second line that we’re not sure of the origins. We got there with the Bean who is on tail watch since she has chewed a basic ring around her tail and can’t be trusted to be on her own.
G said B makes her feel bitchy, J is not responding and R is nice – but she called the long lost T at the end of it all because she feels as if she was blown off. Note to self call T and ask him why if he is so able to call her a maneater, he wanted to go out with her. Hello? Is anyone home?
Anais was singing tonight at Bacchanal – what a lovely creature – long legs, junk in the trunk and yet, me thinks there is some shalty shnacks going on there that have shades of a long ago reunion with C at the Big 4 on Snob Hill. Too long for details.
G was in a mood, inconsolable. We were going for a nightcap but she couldn’t do it. And I was ready for home myself having not really awakened to the day in any kind of real clarity. It’s impossible to know what we want – where is love tendered – is it through sex? cuddling? gossiping? confiding? conceding? – why does anyone want anything that in the end will hurt them?
Arlene is in a curley cue form – trying to chew what is left of the hot spot on her tail – and we, G and me, are chasing our own tails in some sort of vestigal dance of nonsense.