One [story] called “The Sad Island” (also named “carrying Water in a Sieve” though it’s come to be known as “Making a Picture”)

Its moral: If you echo onward you may fit the distance
Its second moral: The feathers in your cap are inextricable

Hejinian, The Border Comedy, 14

Swear to god I'm going to go insaaaaane with this one... I've gone to two pride parades in B-ville and each time I walk by a particular ex- whom I haven't been on speaking terms with for over three years, and her wife, who used to be our professor. Usually they're cuddling or something.

(I didn't go tubing because I suddenly realized that it would be just me and a great, hilarious fellow who nonetheless hits heavily on anything with big boobs whenever he gets drunk. Ibso facto, best to go with a group. Would have been better to do the same at the parade though.)

Well, this time, I almost ran into the ex- and her prof- four times, bam bam bam bam, with me turning the opposite direction each time, bam wham, and walking away (without them noticing I think) balam! It chaps my chiff to feel like I'm sneaking away, especially as I've worked admirably towards a disinterested neutrality with regards to that part of my past, but running into those two at the Pride Parade of all places and having to possibly make civil conversation with them for the first time in ages is my idea of Hell. The Hell where you stand up to the neck in your own shit while flames are thrown across your eyeballs.

On the other hand, I think I will go crazy if I can't just run into one or the other of them (not both) in a less ironic setting and get it over with, rid myself of the abstract symbol of something-er-other, so I'm not jumping at shadows.

bn told me before I left Chicago that I should never, ever feel like I have to slink. I'm pretty sure it was the nicest compliment she's paid me, and I try to keep it in mind around these parts since I'm often on edge when in town, and I pray that this goes away soon.

The hard, stupidest part for me to accept sometimes is that if [things had shaked slightly differently]... I wonder if we all might have been friends. Sucks to think those things; friendship is better, but unfortunately ethical friends are the best.

Love is for babies.

*

On other notes, the parade itself wasn't bad and I enjoyed myself. The two protesters sporting 'God Hates You' ilk banners on the edge of the Pride Parade made me eat my previous-post words. Blah blah blah and I guess pride's not about claiming that queerness ain't messy (maybe the opposite), but that it needs to be respected and included anyway, Blah Blah Blah. Everyone looked happy.

Plus, The Roller Betties were still hot, and it's nice for a change to let myself lecherously lust at the hotties.

Sigh. Nothing's ever easy for me, is it.

I went to my dad's housewarming last night though, and I guess I can say that quiche-making is getting easier and easier, because I made a Broccoli-Feta Plus Quiche to take there, and it was gone in an hour. It friggin rocked, if I may toot my own horn. Toot. And for home, I made a Cauliflower Chicken Quiche that also makes the mouth flow. Toot toot.

Oh, and I found a photo-project place. And maybe scored a very parttime job doing photoshop and grant-applying work. And I'm writing again (slowly, like mush. and got given major shit last night for having only submitted my work four times in my life, and always to easy catches. It's getting pathetic, I must say).

Going paddling.