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Pompadours

Had to get out of the apartment-- I could feel the doldrums overtaking. A man can only take so much lazing about, though it's hard to believe I would ever reach a limit. Victrola advertised "classic jazz" tonight, and though the band is playing lounge music better suited to a pompadour (there are some here, in the band and in the house), I'm far from unhappy. I feel hipper by the moment.

Jen approached me on her way out, observing that she had started and ended her day with me. I really love the atmosphere she and Chris have created here with many hours and much sweat. They are a good couple and good business owners; I wish them much success and reward.

I decided to try Reed's Ginger Ale, since a full house is a warm house. Glad I tried, but I won't have it again. Like drinking iced tree bark. Points for authenticity.

There are those rare moments, like this one, when I wouldn't mind some company, even a hand to hold. I don't know what I'd say, but the good thing about wishing is that it's my wish, so I wouldn't need say anything at all.

At least I'm out, I tell myself. And in this moment, it is better to be. Maybe I'm on the outside looking in sometimes, but at least I'm looking in, and that's a start.

Comments

The great thing about the right person is you wouldn't have to say anything, because they'd already understand.
That's the thing, isn't it?

Icon: puppy?
Oui. It's Alida's puppy. He's kind of hard to make out since the bedspread is white and the puppy is mostly white. And he likes to tuck his face between your arm and your body.

I tried to sneak him out in my bag Sunday evening, but Alida caught me. Dang.