It's never too late.

And I mean flushed in the non-bathroom sort of way

Weighing my pockets with stones of longing

Especially when those days are Saturday and Sunday.

They always come crawling back

Dreamt I was Native American--maybe a man, but my sex was somewhat undefined. I think I was mostly a man, though. I was carrying around an infant (adorable), probably mine. With us was an old man, maybe my father, but certainly the baby's grandfather. The baby starts talking--it addresses the Creator, then continues speaking in our native tongue. I take this as a sign that the baby is dying. I splash us both with cold water, pouring a little on the baby's head. The baby, of course, starts crying. The grandfather, knowing that the baby is fine, that it is in fact just communicating with the divine (this is a special talent, but grandfather does not seem surprised), scolds me, "What are you doing?" I explain that I thought it was "the plume," the time and ritual for the dying or dead. This happens a couple of times before I get it. The baby is so cute.

Another good morning at Anatole France except that I'm losing Monsieur Bonafos's class to the real English teacher. So still get to work with Dadi�s, only from now on it's half the class at a time. Lots of insisting that I not tell the Inspection (i.e. my boss) anything about the changes.

Came home and mostly frittered the day away by sleeping, but it felt nice. Really wanted to go out and party it up so I would have something exciting to talk about, so I sent a message to everybody, but no one was game except Will. So I stayed home and drank alone! Did some exercising and cleaning and even some work - finally got through the cahiers - and made a party-prep playlist and danced around and daydreamed until I was really quite frustrated to be alone. I should stop doing that. Drawback to having an active imagination, I suppose.

Finally it was 2:00 and I could call K. He was out, so I offered to wait another hour or so. Went home, freshened up a bit, then calmly knitted to disguise my excitement. At last, 3:45. Charged back out to my poor broken phone booth and the freezing cold--K was home by then and significantly friendlier. Our conversation was full of pregnant pauses and lame innuendos. Stayed on the phone till 5:30 or so and the town was waking up. When the street cleaners went by I told him he could say whatever he wanted and I wouldn't be able to hear it. A few moments later when he asked if I'd heard anything, I said no.

I lied. It sounded awfully nice in that voice of his... I like that this is my little secret, but he can think it's his little secret too.

We got cut off during goodbye; I decided not to call back. Couldn't get warm for the longest time, so I had trouble falling asleep. Dreamt Mom was here and that I took her down the street across the border to Mali. Discussion with the border guard in French and Bambara; he gave me a necklace. Second trilingual dream I've ever had.

I would have preferred something hotter. at 6:35 p.m.