My mind is blank today, but I hadn't written in you in over a week, so here I am... It's not like we haven't seen each other in a week. I saw you this morning. You were sleeping, and I was four inches from your face, staring at you and humming an E flat minor. "Ohmmmmmmnnmn...". But that type of thing doesn't count as quality communication, so here goes.
I helped the lady downstairs install 2 air conditioners yesterday. She's on the heftier side of the spectrum, and can't stand for more than a minute or two without resting. She has cancer, and she brought it up a lot. A lot. And I don't know what to say, because I'm sympathetic (Or do I mean empathetic here? Whichever one means I know cancer sucks, but not from personal experience), but I'm also holding a sixty-five pound window unit. The metal corner is digging into my hip, I think I'm bleeding, but I'm furrowing my brow and nodding to the story she's telling me.
It's strange to see people's homes when you don't really know them. No matter how clean a place is, some item always reveals more than polite sensibilities desire. Foot lotion, now with anti-fungal support. Old paperback romance novels, with some Civil War belle staring pensively out of a plantation window, her face clearly pleading "Come back to me, Jamison Beauregard III, so we can do the grown-up hug in the smoke house again." In public, people get the chance to present themselves as they seem fit. If you want to know about their weird side, you have to Facebook them. But once your in their home, there's simply no way they can hide their freakish love of panda bears.
Okay, off to the gym, and then to do more Censifying.
I Heart You
