Thursday is trash day.
That’s all. Thanks, everybody. Goodnight! God bless you! [Sonny and Cher end-of-show theme song begins.]
Thursday is trash day, a thing an app reminds me of via text and thank God, because I’d forget every week otherwise. Anyway, when I bring in the trash or roll it on out there, when I roll out the barrel,
Thanks, everybody! God bless you; good night! [And the beat goes on…]
I really need to get over referencing the end of the Sonny and Cher show.
SO THURSDAY IS TRASH DAY, and no matter which way I’m rolling the barrel, Milhous likes to get on the can and ride with me across the yard. If there were another person actually here and I weren’t the unibomber with my alone time, I’d get that person to photograph it for you because it’s charming. He rides on top of the trash can and also too the recycle bin like he’s Homecoming King of this fine what-meth neighborhood.
Actually, rumor has it it’s heroin. The drug house near me. Heroin, not meth. I don’t know the difference. Hit me with your meth shot. I don’t know.
Speaking of another person living here, I spoke for awhile with my friend back in LA, Beige. Beige and her husband Robe lived walking distance from us—they were Marvin’s friends and then they became my friends as well. The very last phone call I made in LA was to Robe and Beige, as they had had our going-away party and I called from our empty house the next morning to thank them. I had an involved talk with Robe about poop euphemisms and I remember giggling endlessly at his “Chanel No. 2.”
Then we left and nothing was ever the same again.
Life is weird.
Anyway, I spoke with Beige this weekend, and I seem to be digressing a lot today, and she reminded me that when I’d have coffee in the morning, I’d just hold out my cup and Marvin, who abhorred coffee, would run over and take my cup and refill it.
We’re divorced now.
Why didn’t he bash me in the head with my cup?
I also spoke with cheery Marvin this weekend, of the coffee-retriever Marvins, who said, “Eventually, everyone will get coronavirus.” And that’s when I remembered why we’re divorced. His cheery personality.
It’s a very foggy morning here in JuneTown, and yes, I am delusional enough to call it JuneTown. The fog is low and rolling down my street and it’s very novel. Like this coronavirus. Thanks, Marvin. Have you met my anxiety, Marvin? Yeesch.
I have copy editing out my ass today, which will be interesting for trying to read it. I spent most of the afternoon yesterday copy editing so today would be less intense, but still. Out my ass.
Since I knew I had to work Sunday, and because it’s been awhile since I’ve gone anywhere—you know, like four months—I decided to go out a bit Saturday. Rub up against other people. Walk around the cough ward.
What I did was make myself a list, a treasure hunt, if you will. I wrote down whatever came into my head to go out and look for and then I drove around till I found said things.
Pandemics and life are weird.
First on my list? A purple door.
Okay, why did I set myself up for such a tall order? I found a pink door, which by the way I like. Why do people cut down all their trees and have a screamingly bright unshaded front yard? I’ve never understood that.
I really drove around all over yonder for quite awhile.
I finally found one, over here at B’s house, and then I rememebred.
Ohmygod, my old house. **I** have a purple door. And this is why I divorced myself. Also, putting this picture up for you just now, I just noted she put on a new roof! The roof used to be green, which was part of my years-long obsession about what color to paint the door.
It’s funny how quickly I detach from this house. During my year abroad, I was surprised at how much I didn’t think about it even though I still owned it. Then I moved back into it and got attached to it again, and felt sad when I moved, and now I drive past it and feel mostly detached again.
I lived there for 10 years. Minus one year abroad. And I’m all, eh. And I loved that house. I made every room just exactly how I wanted it. Of course that’s all I think about here: changing each room so it’s exactly how I want it. I also think about coronavirus. Did you know experts like Marvin say we will all get it?
Back to my treasure hunt.
I had to put gas in my car for the first time since February and heartily resented it. All I ever do is gas up this auto, I thought, my gas cap wishing me a happy Valentine’s Day.
Then I looked for a fish. Don’t even ask me what cockamamie list I made for myself. It was absurd.
Oh, I drove all over everywhere. Back in Seattle, across the street from one of my apartments was this seafood supplier, and they had a giant fish out front with this fish mouth that would move up and down. I had a balcony, and I’d stand outside after work and imagine that fish was saying, “Hel-lo Juuuune. How was your daaaaaay?”
Maybe be would have been quicker to drive to Seattle and look for my former fish friend there.
But here’s the thing. I rounded a corner and a man was fishing on a little lake. He had a big bucket with him, and I know there were fish in there. But it would have involved me pulling onto the grass and coming at him with my phone and he was a man of color and I did not for one minute want him to think I was one of those white people coming at him to call the police on him for ridiculous reasons. “Do you have a license to fish here?” I didn’t want to interrupt even one moment of his peace right then.
So here’s yer fish picture.
I also set out to find a dog, and you couldn’t find a dog Saturday if your life depended on it. Oh my god. There were no dogs anywhere, on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. I didn’t have my dog because he didn’t wanna come along. His hips are bothering him something fierce. Poor declining Eds. He’s only 9! Okay, he’ll be 10 in less than a month, but 10 isn’t that old!
I was at a red light, and this woman was turning onto my street, not that I own the street. June Street, right in the midst of JuneTown. Anyway, this giant huge sheepdog was curled around the top of her from the back seat and I laughed and right then I realized I’d seen a dog. “Just because you didn’t photograph it doesn’t mean you didn’t see it, June,” I told myself, turning off June Avenue onto the June Plaza to look at the June statue of myself.
Also too, my list had “a field of flowers,” not realizing it’s June, a month named for me, and also a month that’s hot and not that flowery here.
Mostly in June you see a lot of this. Not in me, personally, but in the month named for me.
But look! I found these! What are these? Are they heroin flowers? Cause I coulda brought them home and fit right in. I guess poppies are heroin flowers, aren’t they? Anyway, flowers in a field, which isn’t quite a field of flowers, but still.
Finally I set out to find something pandemic-related. Light, breezy, fun. Those are my monikers.
So that was my treasure hunt, and I also got up all my nerve and went to an outdoor market to get strawberries, because this time of year I’m usually living on them and ooooo! Look how cute that bird bath is up there in my COVID shot! I just noticed it.
The ADD is strong today. And I have copy editing out my ass. How will June’s day go? Let’s watch.