Thanks for the tail-end of that hurricane on the morning of my 33rd birthday! What a way to finish a simultaneously heartbreaking and fantastic summer, at an electric picnic among friends.
I arrived home, grimy and exhausted and smelling like 3-day-old waterlogged socks, to my sweet archangel of a roommate. We had bourbon over a game of chess; came to a very pleasant agreement over the nature of our co-habitation; acquired a curvy beauty of a grill for half-price the next day; and BBQ'd salmon and vegetables. The genius of a hangover. We both love porridge and good whiskey, so we suit!
Now I must apologize in advance, dear Universe: I'm too busy grabbing fire from the gods to write here. I'm calling a hiatus from the record of my torrential emotions. Fingers crossed, I may resume dutiful remembrance soon. Who knows, I may write tomorrow, that's how flexible I am becoming these days. I know better than to attend faithfully, fatefully, to a promise or ultimatum.