At the intersection of Cornwallis and Battleground, I stopped in traffic behind a woman driving a green late-nineties Bonneville with IN PURSUIT OF GOD in cursive capitals on the trunk. I'm no theologian, but I think I could work my way around to a pretty firm belief that God could outrun a Pontiac.
Just past the mulch place on 70, there was a man selling flags and collectibles out of a trailer that said FLAGS AND COLLECTIBLES. Much of what seemed to need flying or collecting had to do with automobile racing and secession.
Coffee, dog, roomie, front porch. Last final of the semester. A kid who wrote a nice story. Plus a little Richard Yates thrown in for good measure, to be sure to send them back to their lives a little bit more disconsolate than they were before, which is, I think, the principal purpose of the writing workshop. Go forth and be vaguely sad.
They're saying it and I'm trying to believe it: something may actually be on the breeze, which, for all this insanity, is a little cooler today. There's something in it, something there. They're saying maybe rain tomorrow, maybe showers after midnight tonight. I think I'll probably say up late to see if anything comes along.
The dog spent part of her morning trying to understand a bumblebee. Don't eat the bee, I said. She didn't. She finally decided to lie down a few feet away, refusing to make eye contact with it. That'll show 'em.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
In Pursuit.
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when Buddy chases flies, he goes after them with his teeth chomping. but when he doesn't kill them he runs under the bed and hides. as if they're like bees and sending out pheromones to gather the troops from the hive. i like so much: go forth and be vaguely sad. and i like the idea of staying up past midnight, waiting for the rain. i think i'll do it since it's warm enough to sit on the porch and read by the christmas lights and i don't have to study Gonadotropin-Releasing Hormones anymore. the testes have descended.
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