they pulled my hair at charm school.
they
stole my guestbook during
rolecall.
Califor=nia Dream_ ing . + August 15. 2002 = 9:47 a.m.
+ Last week = Airports, pale grey wings, landing gear. Kneecaps, blue faux leather seats, small plastic cups hold cold drinks. Long drive home. Breakfast takes place somewhere in Connecticut. No sleep and little things like the pool of coffee near my cup makes me laugh so uncontrollably that the old men in the booth across the aisle take notice. Resume highway driving and the hot sun makes our skin look yellow & gold. Windshield wipers clear away airport parking dust. Massachusetts is a green tangle of fields and trees . The weekend takes place at a Vermont lake house. Old floorboards and sleeping porches. Floating dock to swim to. Conversations about urban planning and what __ is : modern community. Late night camp fire, margaritas, smores. Sunday morning + wash dishes + pack bags + boy puts BeachBoys on stereo. Breakfast takes place in Burlington at noon. Eleven of us and a quiet descends when the food arrives. Spend afternoon wandering streets. Ride home is fall fashion magazines, boys arm around my shoulder, note taking in my old moleskin journal. Today's morning hrs are spent on the Plainfield House's deck. Am reading at The Virgin Suicides. Have fallen for many of Eugenides's sentences. ("...penning her signature, Lux Lisbon, below, the two beseeching L's reaching our for each other over the ditch of the u and the barbed-wire x." Have just discovered that my hotmail account has D E L E T E D all of my old emails. Am not sure how much this matters to me. Think of the top attic shelf on which rests the heavy metal box that contains the 1 9 6 0's era love letters my father wrote to my mother. emails are such a different thing.
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ghosts!
