20 August, 2006

The Saint Elmo's Fire Bar

My first official night living in flagstaff and I drank a bottle of wine. You would think that at the age of 34 I would have, A) stopped involving myself with myself in such sad behavior, or B) Given in to the dark side by now.

But that isn’t the way for me I guess, and I prefer to straddle the fence in yet another aspect of my life. Sometimes I blame it on a crooked heart, and will read some Flannery O’Conner, and dance around my house, sometimes i find no fault until the next morning when my favorite time of day has been wasted in half productive slumber.

BUT maybe having to use the walls to help support my walk home from time to time is a good way to keep it humble. It s lets my person know that, no, you can not do it alone, but need the support of boxy governmental buildings to help you on your way.

I tried to swing on the weeping willow in front of an attorneys office. Spinning in circles till collapse onto a tightly knit lawn. I wondered what sort of seed they used.

Little Izzy Fitts did the same thing on a weeping willow last week. After the memorial service for Leevi, we went to the Jerome Park, where he spun around in circles on a teenage willow tree. I smiled bleakly, making a mental note of the willow near my new, flagstaff room.

So there I was, trying to walk straight. I tried walking like a fashion model, in hopes of counteracting the fisherman’s stagger. I know I was monstrous, but it was honest.
That’s what happens when I go to that St. Elmo’s fire bar, where everyone sits on the patio and creates their own personal glory days

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