I wake early but settle back into that easy, dreaming sleep. I dream of a child and a spider. The spider swings from its silk (or a strand of the child's hair? they are one and the same).
I wake truly when my sister knocks gently and leans in to say she is going out. I, however, begin my day inside, with Inside. Mark solves puzzles, names the stumbling, faceless men who follow his lead. On the big screen of the living room television, I can make out more details in the shadows.
I am dressed for hot weather, for the sun pressing against the closed blinds. Shorts which reach up to my waist and down to mid-thigh, red lipstick, big hair.
An organized mess of a day. Pleasure in what is simple and strange. Hearing ninety seconds of poetry, writing verse of my own. Watching Mozart in the Jungle, reading it too, while walking and walzing to the Laendler. Drinking ice water, sipping hot tea. Eating rice and chicken with chopsticks. Putting my hair up, letting it down.
July 24, 2016