Peach Mint Popsicles and a pedicure and dancing around the apartment with the dog.

Black Warrior Radio

Tonight from 6-8pm, Central Time Stream here.

Let’s go crazy. Let’s get nuts.

Last night was totally magical–I cooked dinner and then sat around and giggled with my girlfriends, trying on lipsticks and taking photos and coloring and drinking wine–having, essentially, a slumber party; then saw a hilarious (and actually quite good) southern hipster band at my favorite bar. I flirted my ass off–part of our new plan to date everything and NEVER settle in with anyone for the duration of our stay in Alabama. You’re alright but I’m here darling to enjoy the party. But then this morning I faced some unintended consequences of said strategy and felt awful, just awful. I sat around blank-brained all day, then finally picked myself up off the couch, changed the sheets, scrubbed the bathroom and bought those popsicle molds I’ve been eyeing from Target. While I was there, I found this, and discovered that there really isn’t much these days that can’t be cured by a fresh peach and a new sundress.

So that’s a thing.

the underrated virtue

It’s too hot to write so I lay on the couch with the dog and stare at walls, and eat coconut popsicles, and read a little. Slow and sleepy, the way summers here always are.

Yesterday I wore another of my swishy sundresses to the farmer’s market and picked up greens, sprouts, peaches, blueberries, black berries, sauerkraut, sunflowers, tomatoes, lemon cucumbers, ground beef. I want to make out with the inside of my refrigerator right now. I am thinking about Peach Ginger Preserves. I am thinking about green tea smoothies. I am thinking about figs. I am thinking about the next time I can go swimming. I am thinking about peach ice cream. I am not thinking about much else.

It’s nice, actually.

Happy Tuscaloosa. I love you.

After the drive home from the airport I dropped my bags on the living room floor and took the dog for a long walk and snuggled with the cat, who made himself hoarse telling me about all the things he’d seen and done since we last saw each other while he lay on my belly and kneaded my chest with his claws. Dressed and went to my favorite bar, where all sorts of friends turned out to say hello, welcome back, we missed you, here’s this new shot we all like, what the hell is a retablo. We closed the place down. I was drunk and silly–we broke into the pool at a neighboring apartment complex and went swimming until 4am. According to custom, I fell asleep on the couch when I got home, still wearing my teeny sundress, my hair still soaked by rank chlorinated pool water. At some point in the night, my sometimes-lover let himself into my apartment and scooped me up off the couch. I came to in his arms. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw you from the street. I thought I’d put you to bed.” He tucked me in and read one of my graphic novels until he fell asleep. I woke at dawn and we fucked for several hours, then slept in until noon, whereupon I got up and made tea and put the house back in order. I got barbeque for dinner with one of my dearest friends here, B, stripping meat off of ribs with my teeth while he filled me in on all the hilarity I’d missed while in Santa Fe. It’s been a sweet homecoming.

Tuscaloosa and I still love each other.

Old school.

It’s O.K. to keep hearing your worries, so long as you

stop talking to them. Shun them like a double-crossed Quaker.

Imagine how quiet it would be, like shutting off the droning ocean.

That’s how our parasites must feel about our hearts.

What a racket, all that pumping. Shut up shut up.

Jennifer Michael Hecht

Peep Show.

Sometimes writing in this blog feels like performing in a peep show. There is just enough information in my stats and in the odd, aggressive screened comment to determine that there are some decidedly creepy people who should NOT be looking for this place looking for it quite determinedly. I can only make out shadows as I twist and turn, shape myself and my experiences in a space I try as unselfconsciously as possible to imagine to be private.

This is not for you.

Excerpt from a late-night email:

After that [we] kidnapped a football player named T. By kidnap, I mean, we said get in the car and he did. We played “I never” with him, and let me tell you T has not done shit.

Alright ALRIGHT I’ll come back to Tuscaloosa. I’m not going to miss out on another one of THOSE nights, that’s for damnsure.

Only 5 days left in New Mexico and every time I think about it, I get super pissy. I thought I would be more ready to get home to Tuscaloosa than I actually am. I am probably going to cry the whole way home, as I do almost every time I return to wherever I am living from here.

White Rock

I nearly bit off more than I could chew with this hike–9 miles, more than I’ve attempted in a single go in YEARS and it was down into and then up out of a lava rock canyon to boot. I am pretty sure I hallucinated for most of the ascent, oops. Though the isolated waterfall-fed pool I made it to was completely worth the agony. It was one of the most peaceful afternoons of my life–I ate fruit and stared off into space, smiling; I worried about nothing except my supply of water, I wrote quite a lot and spent the afternoon in the company of some very acrobatic red dragonflies, who kept me giggling. Since I’m not going to tell the whole story of the hike, I’ll just post a photo or two.

New Mexico is magic, y’all.