Two items of news today.
My Linnea is in Chattanooga!
and,
I'm not doing grad school this year. Taking a break, saving up, probably going back next summer. I am breathing a sigh of mixed regret and relief. I still have one assignment left to do for this year, so I'd better make it a good one.
This report was brought to you by the letter G, the number 4, and a scene from my kitchen, one half-hour ago.
Tuggy and Miss Saturday are fixing taco-like entities filled with Fluffy-Puff Air Puffed Chicken Delights (hand-puffed in a factory in Neuconsin) that I found in my freezer that needed to be eaten up. As I take a swig of soy milk (also something in my fridge that I didn't put there, that needs to be eaten up), Miss Saturday lifts her taco to her mouth, and several pieces of tomato and some cheese and sour cream drop onto the floor. We look at each other nonemotionally.
AS: "Things Fell Out. That's what I will call that part of my life."
(I wish I had a DVD of Miss Saturday's life with chapter headings like that.)
Those of you who are or have been musicians or actors or other stage-familiar people -
Remember what it feels like to be on a stage in the late afternoon after a matinee performance, when everyone is out of the auditorium, and the few people left cleaning up are backstage or in the reception room? You've kicked off your shoes, and are standing in your finery in this big empty space. It's not that fancy, when you're up there. Paint is missing from some surfaces that the audience couldn't see. It's quiet, and there's a drowsy amount of sunlight coming from the open doors at the back of the hall, along with echoes of laughter from some girl who has a crush on one of the other musicians and is trying to hold his attention as he's trying to leave.
The stage floor is dusty, and you don't like dust on the bottom of your feet, but it feels so good to be barefoot that you don't really mind at this point. If you sit down, you can see the dust filtering through the coppery light and landing on seats and floors, or your arm. Someone walks by the doors and calls congratulations to you on your fine performance. You smile and nod, but are glad when they keep walking, because right now, you don't really want to be anywhere or have anything happen.
All my RAs went home today. I feel a little lonely without them.