Time has slowed again, gone back to the way it was when we were kids, when days last for centuries. It bends and stretches, and I live sixteen lives before I find myself in bed again. When I wake up in the morning and open the door, eveything smells warm and green and alive, like jungle.
Now that it’s really spring I’m always outside. All of a sudden I have freckles and am very, very tan. It reminds me of when I first started spending time here and life was too good for work, so I kept calling in sick and they fired me. And when I came in to return my books the secretary said “Well, you’re very tan, from WHERE EVER YOU WERE,” spiteful, as if i had been calling out sick from a tropical island while they busted their asses under fluorescent lights. I wanted to scream WELL IF YOU DIDNT SPEND ALL YOUR TIME IN THIS AWFUL OFFICE/IN FRONT OF THE TELEVISION THIS WOULD BE WHAT YOU LOOKED LIKE TOO and I WAS NOWHERE I WAS HOME THIS IS JUST WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE WHEN YOU MOSTLY LIVE OUTSIDE. And of course also, FUCK YOU. Instead I think I just smirked. Afterall, she’s still sitting behind the desk, and I’m sitting on a mattress beneath a maple tree eating cherry tomato salad.
At first when the weather started to get warm, it felt wrong, surreal, like some sort of joke. Weather isn’t this pleasant, I would think, on the way to the kitchen in the morning. Weather is bitter and cold and creul. We’ve been captured by giant scientists and put in a biodome, to see how we react to warmth and light. Any minute now they’ll finish their experiment, and it will start snowing again.
But it didn’t. Instead it got warmer. Instead the trees began to fill out and bloom. Instead the sprouts started to come up in the green house, and I stopped lighting the woodstove. And today I took the rest of the wood back out to the shed and packed away my winter coat.
On Friday, hungover from another great (grand! lovely! dance-filled! sweat-filled!) La Casa Fantom concert, we dragged mattresses out into the garden and laid in the shade listening to books on tape, talking, and grazing on the leftovers from breakfast. Then we rode the tractor over to the university trash depot (aka where the big, awesome trash lives) and picked up some chairs, two sinks, a ladder, a cake form, a first aid kit, and a big wooden armoir (doorless). If you’ve never ridden on a trailer on the back of a tractor with five of your friends in the springtime, well, I would recommend it to you, but since most of you probably don’t have the oppurtunity to go out for daily tractor joyrides, I’ll just say this: “Punks on tractors!” (to quote the wise words of Katey Sleeveless).
At some point after this the weekend started. People celebrated Jesus’ death/rebirth/whatever. The supermarkets were closed, and their dumpsters were full. We grilled homemade seitan and zucchini and rode bikes to fleamarkets and ate ice cream and dumpstered fruit salad, and my winter depression thawed into euphoria.
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