Always in the in-between.

I am in the middle of guests and visits (Camera Coon and Steve followed by a hysterical car ride to Huntingdon and a lonesome bus ride back to New York, followed by Jade followed by Michelle followed by Lauren followed by staying up all night and dancing to Joy Division and crawling around in the plant at sunrise followed by a 5:30 am departure and an 8:00 pm departure, followed by the arrival of Dawn, followed by the arrival of Aunt JoAnn, who has not yet come but I am waiting for her in a coffee shop on Franklin Avenue), in the middle of life pursuits (long lazy summer followed by exciting art employment followed by art school and then having three jobs again, just like the old days), in the middle of head and heart and feelings.

Some things remain the same. I am, for instance, having coffee. Right now. I think I’ve had coffee every day since I’ve started having coffee, except for the day Lauren and I were in Paris and I checked my bank account in the evening and Lauren said I looked like I was about ready to die and IT’S TRUE, I was. If only I had the bean-wine in my veins. I could have handled the news better.

I am still resplendent with feelings. I still don’t throw anything away. I still love the song “Get Up (I Feel Like Being a) Sex Machine” by the musical artist James Brown and I still remember the time I was walking home and heard it blasting from not one but two open garages. I still really like beets.

I still really like cats.

They are, perhaps, the one thing that remains. Along with my love of scavenging.

In honor of the impending great lady herself, I will share with you an email sent some time ago by good old Auntie Jo, who claims not to like cats BUT THIS IS A LIE.

It was entitled FWD: No Stress!

“This is how I heard your day was going”