Dangerous Compassions

homicidal fairy

At the thrift store the other day, I got this notebook filled with green paper–the paper is very nice, but Tinkerbell is on the cover.  I really don’t like her–she tried to kill Wendy–she is a homicidal fairy.  It was a dollar.

Last night we went to Happy Earth Market to hear R perform.  We pulled up right when he did.  Few people were there.  He did his entire repertoire, which I wasn’t expecting.  He missed a song, and I shouted its title to him to remind him, toward the end.  Unfortunately it’s a new song and he doesn’t have the lyrics quite memorized, and he stumbled.

“You look nice,” I told him when he hugged me.

“It’s laundry day,” he said.  He was wearing a beautiful white linen shirt and some dark gray dress pants that went to mid-calf.  I should have taken a picture.

Yesterday I wore my new pants for the first time, the ones with little green flowers all over them.  I find them charming, but they’re pretty weird.  I actually have two pair because of an ordering mishap, but luckily they fit great.

My cough is worse than ever.  What’s the point of enduring the hell of doctors if they prescribe medication my insurance doesn’t cover and don’t call me back about the results of the chest x-ray?  I’m afraid something’s really wrong and my birthday trip will be canceled.

Waiting for the sun to come up so I can see well enough to put the laundry in.  But I’ve done it in the dark.  If Ming was up I’d borrow a headlamp, but strangely, he’s still sleeping.  Wish I had my own headlamp.  He’s the master of all things flashlight.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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