Uprooted & vulnerable…

…is how moving makes you feel. Professah J, I’m so sorry I missed you while you were in town. I really would have liked to have seen you if for no other reason than to provide fodder for dialogue, but this means that I must host you at the first opportunity. You and Aurora are of course invited for New Years. We will find a place for you to sleep.

For the past several (four and a half) years of my life I have been living in a compressed situation and even though my new place isn’t large at all I am coming across all sorts of forgotten treasures that have lain in chests gathering dust. Most of these things are scraps and refuse to the average eye, but before me their enchantment is unveiled. For example, when opening a box that I sealed nearly half a decade ago I drew out an old plastic carrier from a bank teller pneumatic tube system and I heard Lily’s laughter echoing through my new apartment as hysterically uncontrolled as it did in my car that night I stole it from her bank. Kali, I came across a note you had left me and it was like finding it again tucked under the mattress after I had dropped you at the airport and I could smell the rain in the air and feel the tears on my cheeks from that afternoon. So much came rushing to me from so few lines. Here’s a large White Castle soda cup from the night I drove Wulf and Susan home from their wedding. We were dressed in our formals in a sweet ride and we were all tremendously hungry and it was one in the morning so naturally we ended up at the White Castle on the way home. That was a fine night. Lara was actually my date at that wedding and I just saw her a few days ago but I have been unearthing relics of the various phases of what we have been to each other over the course of our lives like an archaelogist tracing the course of life on Earth and I have certainly found some very interesting specimens that would be meaningless to anyone else. For example, here, stuffed in a manila folder among old academic papers are a collection of erotic letters from Victoria, who I remember her very fondly and it occurs to me that we met when I went with Lara to a wedding of someone we went to high school with. Basically Lara helped me pick her up. She certainly outdid Lily in that department; I just found a picture of George, our dearly mutal conservative Catholic poorly closeted homosexual friend who lived with us as a temporary houseguest for what seems like two years but was probably more like one back in the Castle 2.o days. George hasn’t spoken to either of us in a long time (probably because he considers us amoral traitorous heathens) but I will forever be grateful for his presence the night she tried to set me up with a squat mutated female version of Carrot Top. She was entirely the same shade of orange from her leathery tanned hide through her faded buzzcut interrupted by jagged black eyebrows that appeared to have been crudely smudged charcoal. She looked like a Jack O’Lantern. Lily insisted she was also an age-appropriate matchup, but as George is my witness, that woman was at least forty nine years of age at the time. Of course, the lilting gravel of her voice didn’t help convince me of her youthfulness, but Lily said it was just because she smoked so many filterless cigarettes. Oh, and Lily, speaking of the maniacs you used to work with, email Miranda for the latest at Tommie’s place of employment. I don’t want to go into it here, but it involves suicide, stolen narcotics and soiled underwear. 

I have to go do things away from the computer now. My unlimited love to y’all.

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