parable

I feel like that thirsty crow from the parable. You know the one right? Toil with the stones for a drink during drought. Place them, one by one, in the vase until beak reaches liquid. The outcome is worth all the little details, apparently. I am dying of thirst in the meantime, collecting stones. When will we drink?

Humidity and sunshine has descended on this city and we deserve it. There have been too many days this summer spent pedaling in heavy rain and showing up looking drowned but smiling. Something happens between me and the traffic in these times. All of a sudden I get sympathetic smiles, comments like 'il fait bain bein aujourd'hui en chôlis,' and even a little bit of conduissant courtesy. Please go first, you beleaguered wet one. After you.

It would be nice if it would rain again, even though we wished for sunshine. It is exhausting and greasy, lazy and uninspired. It takes too much energy to commit to anything at all and so the commitments grow. We are living days that are not comfortable enough for an afternoon nap with a fan to your face. There is certainly no touching of skin. I want the sky to break again. break!

Like a masochist in heat, I am getting pissy at costumes and scripts and stories and sections. Despite knowing very well that I do it to myself, it still surprises me from time to time, when the cards pile up or when I'm about to bleed. There are SO many things to strike off the list, yet all I want to do is dick around.

I can feel September coming on...