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2004-07-03 - 11:27 a.m.
Oh, now where've you gone?
I am happy in the way that I think people mean when they talk about clams being happy, sitting quietly in my own little world, minding my own business, smiling at my thoughts as though they were right in front of me, smiling back. Things are not technically good. There's a bit of trouble in the not very distant distance; things are getting too thick and familiar. I am in need of... a new place to settle my loyalty. A new place to live. But, the weather feels right, I'm the nicest kind of achy/sleepy, and tomorrow will be lazy sitting in a garden with my favorites, and then fireworks. See? Happy, happy, happy.Last night was surprisingly nice as far as the Egglet was concerned, and surprisingly bearable as far as the Death Machine was. Michael did not quite keep his promise, but his forgetfulness and his story were irresistible. He's so good. I chose the Egg's songs impossibly quickly, and I love them! I'm pretty certain he will too; they're very very Egg. Summertime Egg. The best thing about making a CD for someone I really like is when I come across a song that I couldn't see giving to anyone else. The Egg got a couple of those.I have a new occupation. I've been chasing down the ice cream truck. On Sunday I walked for an hour down number twenty-five, and found four ice cream trucks along the way, but none had what I was looking for. It isn't the ice cream I want, but the song. The Mr. Softee song. Apparently, the mayor has said, "Enough!" and time is running out. I want to get it on tape before it's too late. Yesterday, I heard it drift up to the window, but by the time I got downstairs, it was heading off around the corner. I chased it as far as the park, but it got away. I'm beginning to worry. Today I'll try again, fooling the ice cream truck into thinking I'm only out in search of sparklers, slipping up beside it while it's looking the other way, and it will never see the tape recorder in my hand.
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