| Emily is gone—northward—and I'm alone in my (thankfully air conditioned) apartment. The next two weeks, she'll be there filming. Her original plan was Americorps, but when that fell through, she found this. She's interviewing farmers in Central Minnesota about organic farming. Pretty cool. So, I'm alone two weeks rather than three months. Any "I am a solitary guy" facade I had is crumbling now. I feel fine, mostly, but lonely. I'm not really solitary. I'm social but lazy re: maintaining friendships. I'm sure I'll find things to do (tonight, for instance, I played a lot of, uh, Splinter Cell). I have off on Tuesday. Work isn't bad. Keeps me busy, socialized, in the money.
Summer sure is passing quickly. As usual, I dread winter.
Other events from today: (1) While I ate an excellent $5 lasagna from Cossetta's (purchased earlier this afternoon), I watched the last 20 minutes of a movie (starring Tim Allen) on TV. The movie concerned businessman Tim Allen's run-in with (his son?) a native—but genetically American—kid from some tribe/group in South America. The native-son had instructed Tim Allen on killing flies with blow darts and, during those last twenty minutes, when the native-son decided to return home, leaving Tim Allen (his father?) and the pretty girl with whom he'd fallen in love behind, the movie became touching and not at all—despite its Disney roots—cloying. Also, when it came out, I was only 14.
(2) We (being Mom and Emily, with whom I'd eaten at Cossetta's in honor of the latter's trip north) went to Jane's (earlier in the day) and sat around in the heat. Aubrey arrived with Uncle Peter, and we three cousins (being Emily, Aubrey, me) walked to Starbucks and bought frapucinnos. Mine was Banana Creme, and excellent. A Starbucks survey asked, "If you could be any Starbucks drink, which would you be?" and I wrote "Venti Chocolate Chip Frapucinno." Someone else had written, "Water. I'm simple," so beside the "simple" I put "-minded," and was very amused. I apologize—Starbucks employees—for my transgression. (3) I listened to Bat Segundo's John Updike interview and was, for the most part, pleased.
Now, at 12:30am, I'm going out biking. I have three tasks before bed at 1:30am. I will (a) return Mr. Wrong, a horrible movie about Bill Pullman stalking Ellen Degeneres (during her "I'm a homely heterosexual" phase), (b) buy water and other groceries at Kowalski's, (c) do something else I can't remember—or I will go to bed, or play more Splinter Cell.
Who knows? I'm alone.
|
