Waiting inside for the main door to open, Dorkus Erik came gorking up behind me, toting his little blue lunch box like a fag.
"What." He asks, quite often, in place of "hello".
"Does it hurt?"
"Does what hurt, my back?" (he’s always injured or something)
"HA. No, Autumn, it doesn’t."
I asked Brandon to say something beautiful that made him think of love. Twenty year old Brandon said: This one time in elementary school I was out on the swings, and 5 girls all lined up to give me a high five on my way forward. It was awesome".
Nicole ran up and showed me her hand, "I’M ENGAGED!" It was one big worry off my chest. Great Scott’s last words to her boyfriend had been, "Now put a ring on her finger and take care of her, already".
Great Scott retired a few weeks ago. I really miss him. Haven’t given him the proper LJ dedication because life has been chaotic. But I did give him a letter.
I’ve been retreating to the gardens. My spare time, if not reading or writing, has been spent outside looking for something to prune, something to paint. Something to move. Something to divide, something to plant. I take the names of things to heart. I do research. I crouch down to the ground and laugh or cry.
The Paradigm is planted next to June. Dream Queen is being overshadowed by the spread of Striptease. The lillies’ song comes later. A large fern is rising and unwinding after my puppy chewed it to the ground, last year. Lakeside Cupcake rests under the delightfully invasive Snow On the Mountain.
I’ve switched to the gayest purse ever and I really like it. At some awful garage sale my dad found that someone had taken the brownish orange-ish material of a living room couch and made it into a bag. It looks like the couch many parents had in the 70’s, early 80’s. He got it in the free bin for me, his daughter, because he thought it was cool. I’m going to use it and if anyone makes fun of it I am going to punch them in the face.
There’s nothing left to be but myself.