Cause there ain't no cure...

Droplets of water bead on the head of this blue dragonfly as it slumbers on a leaf

It finally feels like summer. I am getting used to not teaching, grading nor lecturing which all feels quite nice. The dog and I have done some serious bonding, as have I and the lake. There's a blush in my cheeks, a bounce in my step and a giddiness to the past few coupla weeks.

Meaning...it can't last. The long days are, from here on out only going to get shorter. The end of my vacation will eventually approach. And that feeling of encroaching doom that has always lurked around summer vacation's corners will rear it's ugly head. We all know the inevitables.

But for the time being I get to travel to the east coast. I get to try and make a movie. I get to go out and stomp around in my skirt and cowboy boots and sample the mens a little bit. It's precious the time, especially when we have it. And for now I get to ask myself: what is it that I want to do with this day? This hour? This moment? In figuring out how to spend the hard-earned currency of my precious time off, I invite wandering, getting lost, and staring out the window. And with each new day I look forward to the empty expanse stretching out ahead of me.

The Pin-Striped Suit

Photo by Robert Longo

So the ex has taken off for the summer. The truck we shared is now sold. The apartment long gone. You could say the connections, for all intents and purposes, have been severed.

Except.

The suit. I am now storing my ex's suit. In my closet. Oh, and his pea coat. Along with a lamp and a bike that is not only missing the front brakes, but apparently, for which the back brakes need fixing, too. And so, my friends, we keep the links active.

I dunno. Call me faithful. More loyal than a dog. And of course, the fact of the matter is that once you care for someone, those feelings don't just go away. Unless, I guess, you can replace them with anger. Which I cannot. Not for any great length of time anyway. For the ex I will always have a soft spot. And he, I imagine, will occasionally be asking for something from me. For which I will most likely be obliging if I can.

So, the suit. The pin-striped suit now hanging in the back of my closet. The suit I actually purchased for him in exchange for his attendance at the wedding of a couple that we did not know very well. The suit in which he looked quite nice.

Yes, folks, nearly literally a skeleton in my closet.

But I'd rather be storing a suit for a man I once loved–for whom I can still look at and tear up, not for the feelings I now have, but for the shock that those feelings have now passed–than never to have known the man.

In Spite of Ourselves

Cindy Sherman, Untitled Film Still #48

Well, it was one of those days. The kind with a lotta highs and a few lows, too. I blame the weather. Delicious. Which meant salty skin and puppy paws in the sand. And brunch outdoors. And some good ol'country on the radio. And the roommate is outta town! And stale, skunky Corona from the fridge! And the kind of nights that should never end!

Lord help us. It was the kind of day a lot of thinking got done. Some listening, too. And observations, oh, the observations! Like the pup is afraid of the incoming tide. Or that going to a beach alone can actually be better than with company. And that that duet with John Prine and Iris DeMent is best sung loud, with the windows rolled down, and the speed gauge well over 70.

Let's get lost this summer. You and me. Let's sleep with the dog and get sand in the bed. Let's forget to floss and remember to curse. Let's jump into the lake and get sunburned all over. Maybe we run out of gas. Maybe we get a flat tire. And maybe we fight all day. But maybe, just maybe, we make up our own song along the way.

She thinks all my jokes are corny
Convict movies make her horny
She likes ketchup on her scrambled eggs
Swears like a sailor when shaves her legs
She takes a lickin'
And keeps on tickin'
I'm never gonna let her go.

He's got more balls than a big brass monkey
He's a wacked out werido and a lovebug junkie
Sly as a fox and crazy as a loon
Payday comes and he's howlin' at the moon
He's my baby I don't mean maybe
Never gonna let him go.

You can't take it with you

The Naked Ladies Alphabet by Anthon Beeke

So I finally have some time on my hands...precious time for the professorial artist to finally get in some much need studio practice as they say in the halls of academia, but guess what? Well, one can only imagine the lengths to which I can actively do other things rather than attend to my art. Pet my dog. Water the plants. Google other people's websites and poke around over here on the blog. DISCIPLINE FOLKS! Oh, if only it were something I could purchase at the local vegan earth-friendly coffee shop in which I now write this. Or hell even Starbucks. I would buy that shit! Ladies and gentleman!

But instead, the weather is all nice-ish. The dog is too damn cute. The lake around which I live needs a good walking. And me? I guess I just need a little break.

Blank

Painting by Paul Mullins

I am sure you have been all sitting on the edge of your seats wondering how was Casey's move? and what's her new pad look like? or maybe I was so worried for Casey, I couldn't stop thinking about her! The good news is that I got 100% of my security deposit from the old place and in the process found out more about the building than I had the entire time I lived there. The bad news is that I used a washer in the new place that apparently wasn't hooked up...to a drain nor any kind of pipe-like device. Yes, you can imagine. This when the entire contents of my life were sitting in boxes not more than six feet away. And to add insult to injury, after mopping up that entire mess with the moving blankets–which natch then I had to wash those, too–I couldn't get the damn washer to open. And so I spent the first night–without any sheets nor any towels.

But as far as moves go, yes it was relatively painless. And the new place is relatively sweet. The dog seems to have settled in nicely, even if the all the neighbors have reminded me about a zillion times about the importance of keeping my dog on leash at all times. And the neighborhood is about as ghetto fabulous as it gets, tumbleweaves and all.

So here we are. Back to square one in a way. Filling in the blanks. And charting our way to tomorrows.