(perforated lines -- you can't resist 'em)

 (dad on the phone)
-- Monday, May 22, 2000 --

 

6:07 p.m. Now that I've been back at my desk all day, I've been thinking about yesterday and taking another walk and how wonderful it feels to be away from the desk, even though the whole time I was out walking I was wishing I could be back at home, working, instead of out and about. It's the whole bloom-where-you're-planted, grass-is-greener syndrome, gussied up for those who work at home, and for themselves.

Can't stop working, ever.

I was waiting at the street corner yesterday as this couple walked across. I pretended I was taking a picture of the forlorn putty building behind them, which would be a good real estate investment, I think. It could look wonderful if the right kind of artistic person bought it and loved it and yes, gussied it up.

The guy with the cell phone was lost to the Art Walk -- he was deeply engrossed in his invisible business. His wife was feeding him little bits and pieces from her plate as he paused in his conversation, and when he'd had enough, he shook his head, angrily, just like a child who didn't yet have speech. Or means of communication.

The woman was tense with mothering. The baby slept on as the foggy gray day dissipated around us. And now I wish I were back there, yesterday, with the crowds swirling around. Next year I'm really going to try to get a badge.

(man)

12:02 a.m. Hours have passed. I tried to watch the Ally fi-nally, but alas. Somewhere in Tuneworld, Randy Newman took a wrong turn and hit a bump and now his music sounds as if it's a record that skips. The same proto non-tune over and over again.

Needless to say, I'm trying to learn how to recreate again, now that the main all-nighter is over. I'm trying to relax, and I'm feeling mighty guilty about it. I'm jumpy if the tunes on Ally McGruel are not catchy enough. I'm outta there to check on the printer the second the dialogue sags. Sigh.

But I tried. I really tried. I did stop to smell the roses yesterday, on several occasions. And the jasmine and the honeysuckle, too. Big. nose-buried in softness, whiffs of pure pink and hand-creamy yellow. And the next thought: I should be home, working.

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