dew points

Socializing is not nearly so stressful when strangers and loved ones mingle and I can both interact and observe the interactions of social spheres converging over ample alcohol. I don't drink in this kind of mixed company and drink cup after cup of strong coffee and start talking about absurdity of one kind or another. I'm already ridiculous under the influence of caffeine and fear the affects of anything stronger among a less forgiving populace.

Being out in the burbs, I felt justified in stopping on the way home to peruse at bookstores in hopes of finding out of print art books on obscure craftsmen but settling for dollar grunge CDs and the eternally inspiring art suppliers, because while most of my female peers prefer to shop for shoes, my kryptonite is luminescent acrylics the hues of stained glass, brilliant inks, virgin canvas and uncut squares of linoblock, and waxy prismacolor pencils, attempting to justify the luxury of high-end acrylic and ultimately frugality wins. Maybe someday when I'm really really good or get a pay raise, neither of which is likely.

The world is spiralling even more absurdly with crazed wackjobs with guns and bombs, the lack of change in the status quo regardless of revolution or elected official, and I grieve and yet am full of wonder at the beauty of summer nights of rain and light. I don't feel like I make any sense, that what I believe outside of the Nicene really has any grounding in practical application, and I ramble incoherently and hide behind words and the works of my hands, not knowing what I want out of the future, inconsistent always, hypocritical often, craving yet not knowing for what. Things I can't explain unless over a cup of coffee in person and even then...