Title: Sunday in Emporia
Music du jour: Billy Pilgrim, Billy Pilgrim
It's almost June and I still have no shorts in my wardrobe. This fact was driven home to me today when I stepped out of Cynthia's apartment and was met by a wave of heat rising off the sidewalk. I forgot I was in Kansas, where the humidity occasionally rises over 20%. Whoops. At least I have khakis; jeans in this weather are a bad idea.
The weekend has flown by. I think it's because we slept through most of it. It's amazing how much I sleep on weekends when given the opportunity. Most of the time I feel like I'm wasting my weekend if I sleep til noon, but on the other hand, I must really need the sleep if my body zones out for that long without moving. Today Cynthia, Meredith (Cynthia's next door neighbor) and I went grocery shopping. The excitement that is my life, I tell you. It was terribly domestic, especially since Meredith has her toddler this weekend. So I had a car seat in my dykemobile. Scary shit. The kid really is cute, though... she's about a year and a half old and has these huge liquid brown eyes that cause anyone with an inkling of parental instinct to go weak in the knees. We got home and were divesting the car of grocery bags, and Colleena was bouncing up and down on the sidewalk rather than toddle into Meredith's apartment, despite repeated, "Colleena, come on!" from her mother. So I shifted my grocery bags to one hand and scooped the kid up with the other, and toted her bodily into the house. She didn't seem to mind too much.
I noticed Cynthia looking at me with the strangest look on her face. I think she was envisioning me as a mother, and getting scared. Heh heh heh.
I'd be such a neurotic mom. I really would. All I'd have to do is take after my mother and live in a world of denial about my children, and that would do it.
I'm not a lesbian because I don't have a good relationship with my mother; I don't have a good relationship with my mother because I'm a lesbian. Let this be a lesson to you: don't tell your parents anything they can't handle, lest they shut their eyes and put their hands over their ears, and go, "La la la, I can't hear you, la la la la la!"
Ahem. Not that I have issues or anything.
Not About My Mom, I Promise
Cynthia is currently conjuring up her famous steak, along with some lemon asparagus and new potatoes. The Sunday night meal with Meredith has become something of a tradition when I'm visiting and can actually stay until the next day. We're going to eat outside on the apartment picnic table; partially because the weather is nice, but mostly because there's no space in either of our apartments. And off I go.
-- marcie.