victory march, love is not a

strike that, reverse it. leonard cohen and 50,000 other vibrating vocal cords are singing hallelujah into my otherwise unchecked voicemail inbox. so make that one regret. partially that i am now duty bound to press nine every fourteen days for the remainder of the time i spend breathing. but partially also that i was not there next to a particular person while breathing.

yesterday was 100 degrees and today was 60 degrees and i blame televangelists. the heat summoned the insects from pockets in the earth and now they have nowhere to go. at night the insects sound like blinking cellophane eyes or sine waves or little knives sharpening. yesterday i went european because i had stopped thinking about razors and started thinking about how in a year i would braid my legs and underarms and it would be pretty. yesterday i had mapped out colder latitudes to inhabit shyly (reykjavik, saskatchewan, seattle, moscow, tierra del fuego, new york) and today i need a blanket. no more firestorms.

sean lovelace's account of running the boston marathon is both incredible and hilariously diverting. it could be that i am currently bleeding and listening to dylan, but i cried a little at the part about veering left at water stops then laughed at every mention of dog punting, every mention of subarus, and
the part about the man running with an oxygen cart in tote. expect nachos.

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