Dicks

Hospital. Wet 8-miler. Wine bar. Sleep. Tempo. Shower. Seattle. Side-street cafe. Newspapers. Dicks. Burgers. Fries. Chocolate milk shakes. Home. Btl. of MollyDooker purse-sneak. Plastic cups. Bellingham Blazers hockey game. Cold hands. IPA. Stage stands. Sleep. Easy run. Finished Freedom by Franzen by the fire. Study wine. Wine bar: Best Buy Red Wine Tasting. Pizza.

10 year reunion musings are happening in cafes. When friends say, "I have something to tell you," the first thought - babiez. Two beautiful women I love, one in colorado, one in arizona are pregnant and blooming. August is booked with get-to-know-ya's and weddings. American women are breaking records in track and field. Birds heads are falling off.

I tried to come down from the anti's, with all this movement and happy I thought I could handle whatever would happen with normal thought, but an attic musk musing on everything awful was enough for me to get back to the regime of complying with the (now) fact that I need a boost chemically.

This is taper week. Not like A taper. More like how you taper into Thanksgiving, where you tell yourself Hey if you hold back a little you can enjoy anything come Thanks, but really, you just indulge the whole week and you eat as you cook. It's that kind of forced trick taper. I bet my pube loves it. Little does it know it's going to cry on Sunday. Slightly sadistic, but I see it more like I'm testing the limits of.

Today in strength we listened to Katy Perry because Rad Bones goes on and on about it, and we worked out so hard. I do push ups on my knees and have to use a clitoner to pull myself up in pullups. I don't even know how I live life. But, at least I started my day with KP, my favorite people, with Al back from London, and not too many babies were born today ringalinging through the hallways, and see: Taper.