HomeOctober 6, 1997
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1It's 80 degrees and humid. I'm wearing pink shorts and a dark green t-shirt covered with blotches where I spilled bleach on it at the shelter the last time I did the rabies room dishes. I'm eating leftover portabella pizza from last night. The great thing about living alone is that you can get several meals out of a small pizza. The mockingbird has been singing for hours, a long complicated song with hints of redwing blackbird, robin, blue jay, car alarm, and squirrel. What can possibly be the adaptive value of mimicry? The house sparrows don't even leave the back steps when I come home now. They sit there pecking at the overgrown grass like I'm not even there. 2I bring the film from the weekend to CVS so I can finally finish the entries for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. The 1 hour photo kiosk is really busy so it'll be awhile. I guess everybody photographed fall foliage this weekend. I drink coffee at Starbucks with my head buried in Living at the End of Time by John Hanson Mitchell. He weaves his story of living on the ridge in Littleton with Thoreau's story of living at Walden and with the building of the Littleton Digital plant and native American legends and all sorts of stuff. I have a bone to pick with him though. Nobody at DEC ever called Ken Olsen "Uncle Kenny" except sarcastically. And nobody ever called him "Kenny". It was always Ken or KO. Never Kenny. And all Mitchell would've had to do to get inside the Littleton plant was ask someone who worked there to sign him in. If he knew somebody well enough to get the "Uncle Kenny" stories, surely he knows someone who can get him in to the plant. 3I pick up the pictures at CVS. I pick up my laundry at Cleancraft. I finish the journal entries for the weekend. I watch sitcoms on television. I never watch sitcoms. I must be tireder than I thought. The crickets are deafening. I have to turn the sound up on the TV. I don't have a remote. Yes, you read that right. My TV is so old, I don't have a remote. I get up, walk across the room, turn the volume knob, walk back to my chair and sit down. Wilbur gives up on me and sits in the window listening to the crickets and sniffing the warm night air. It will be winter before long. |
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