Sunday, October 22, 2017

The Last Warm Day

Wake up late (8:15) cursing the headache from last night. I read S & H on the couch and hit the gym. I'm slogging through Ghost Story on the elliptical. I wear shorts. My sidewalk is covered in little yellow leaves. Puhg wants brunch. I wear a purple lip and my bat necklace. We think we miss the bus, start walking, and then grab it on the next block. It starts to rain as we arrive. A warm rain. It's summer but all the storefronts on Clark have fake cobwebs in the windows. The specials are all maple-y. I eat two veggie sausages. I forget what we talked about. We walk the mile home, in shorts, enjoying our neighborhood. I feel a special kind of Lakeview pride on Sundays. I can sense the visitors, but this is my home. We stop twice--once for the Target bathroom and again so I can buy artisanal popcorn. It's perfect out. Women walk to church in maroon dresses. I put Arcade Fire on and fold sweaters. The windows are open, maybe for the last week of the year. In the rain, we snuggle under blankets and watch the end of Something Wicked This Way Comes. I work on a screenplay, I grade two papers, I make a lesson plan, we watch the 6th Paranormal Activity. It's my mom's birthday. I think about next August. I do not think about December. I am not ready. I will drink a pumpkin coffee tomorrow. I will administer a mid-term. There is something unlike anything else I know in me. I try to name it and can't. Last night in my dream I was teaching a class and someone else started lecturing. I complained to the department chair. I threw a fit, really. I do not wince at the week ahead. I love the week ahead. I can't believe it's been fifteen years since fall meant putting on a little Express suit and delivering speeches in high school classrooms. I felt the same something stirring then. I try to sluff the guilt off. I know how good I have it and how Puerto Rico doesn't have power. I donated $20 and called Congress. I vow to call and write five times this week. We go to CVS. I get a bag of Reese's shaped like ghosts, filled with orange stuff.

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