I slept for, oh, three thousand hours this weekend. The other night I fended off a very strong desire to go to sleep at seven thirty. I slept off a budding cold, and slept through the Turkey Trot. It was a very successful long weekend in this regard. My friend and I piled under blankets each night, because my grandparent's back room is so very cold. She looked very cute, like a little mouse, bundled up as she slept. I really like watching people sleep. I hope that I am not becoming a very creepy lady.

My favorite moment of the weekend, which was slow but pleasant, was when I was walking with my friend. Pennsylvania is beautiful. We just strolled around the neighborhood, peering in at the old mill and contemplating the mill pond. A terrier nipped at our ankles and growled not very menacingly. We came upon a marsh and I was so excited - it had cattails. I love cattails. I always wanted to eat them when I was a kid.

I started clapping my hands and shouted "Now, see, cattails are really hard to get a hold of because they grow in a marsh, I always thought they'd taste like chocolate covered ice cream, now I'll just pick you one and --" This is when I stepped on a mound of grass in the middle of the marsh. Oh, there was mud up to my ankles. Shoomp!

My friend was doubled over with laughter and I just said, in a world weary voice, "Let's go home."

It was beautiful. I think it encapsulated the meaning of life even more than the time I made a pumpkin vomit.

You know what it is? It's my friendships with men that I cannot maintain. It's the sad and horrible truth. It's my sad and horrible history.

2002-12-01, My weekend

before / after

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