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Yes I know it's been the same stupid post for so long now.
You've been saying, "Izzle Pfaff is so goddamn funny, and he actually posts from time to time. Dooce is workin' the momma belly angle.
"I used to come here for stories about you breaking your bones that made me nearly puke. And stories about your one menage a trois. And blog surveys. What the fuck happened to you, man?"
I feel your pain.
I've always had a certain affection for the amazing, slightly off-kilter, but amazingly reliable US Postal Service. So, I felt a swell of affection for the Postal Service when I read about this informal postal experiment from the Annals of Improbable Research.
Sometimes after the sound of quarreling all you want is silence.
I took Rzan to school the other day and she slammed the door as she got out to go to class. The conversation on the drive there hadn't gone so well. We'd both said whatever it was we needed to say, but didn't feel much better for it.
I was mad at her petulance then...but got home and calmed down. Who cares about such silly things, anyway. I wanted to just be friendly and free of the weight of dancing around words or eating my own words or just being a dumb boy or whatever it is that causes these things.
We had a BBQ in the backyard. My friends gave me a BBQ book with all kinds of crazy cajun duck flambe recipes that looked so good. We made kababs with all kinds of colorful peppers and marinated stuff and I felt better. By the time she got home late from school I felt that stagnant mixture of love, grouchiness and not knowing what exactly to say.
I said we should go for a walk, and we got ready to go and we did. I got these cheap aqua-socks from payless shoes that were probably made by legless 14 year old sweatshop workers in Indonesia but they are so light and flexible they make me feel like old man kung-fu or something. It felt so good to walk this familiar walk and the words drained thankfully away as I wrapped my arm around her skinny ribs and pulled her close to me walking in opposite step until naturally our feet synched.
We said a couple of things but then it tapered off. We came to the Beaver Park, and it was so silent and trippy like when you eat only a few hallucinogenic mushrooms and then go for a walk and you're trying so hard to feel it and you're so aware. Aware of every scuff and sound.
When we came to the stream I could hear a thousand pieces of water tumbling over a thousand rocks at a thousand distances. She was so real there in the dark light, skinny and complicated and beautiful. We kissed some and I held her really close to me...we just sort of lopped over on the ground and hugged amongst all the million stream sounds. And mostly nothing was said. Mostly nothing is like some major achievement for me, I'm almost always talking.
It just felt like an important moment, lying there all silent and in love, and feeling like love was just this sort of thing. So I thought I'd share it with you, that's all.