Yes, yes. I am silly with good cheer today. Just now I bought some home grown beautiful red ripe tomatoes. I may just eat one on my break. Yum, baby, yum.

Yesterday, after work walking to my truck, I saw Bartholomew Klakk coming out of his house. He saw me and started smiling that shy smile that kids who are trying not to smile get. He blushed. Oh me. We chatted very briefly but we were both so tongue tied and silly that I just had to get away. He�s feminine and masculine at the same time�a seamless androgyny that I find so very desirable. He�s like a tomcat, all graceful and compact and wild when he roams the streets. But also, he�s clearly not at ease in his own skin, shy and self-conscious. I can hardly stand to look at him, so ugly and beautiful, so strange. Frances told me he wants to ride a motorbike down to Nicaragua (what book did he read again, Frances? Why can�t I pay attention to these things?) and I want to go with him on this quest. Ugh ugh ugh. Probably I�ll never see him again, or if I do, it�ll just be me blushing over him like a fool. Hot damn, baby. That boy. I got that boy under my skin.

What else? Oh�I talked on the phone for about 2 hours or something with Frances last night and then she came over and I gave her some blackberries and she played me some songs from the Chelsea Walls soundtrack (done by Jeff Tweedy) and TK pulled up in his truck and showed us his brand new puppy, a beautiful yellow lab and so little. She can�t be more than 8 weeks old I think. Basho was terribly intrigued and we drove over to TK�s and Shilo�s house and there were more dogs�Halle and Ella and Basho and the new pup whose name I can�t remember (but it was something boring and not at all her real name) and I couldn�t pay any attention at all to the conversation because Bash was pulling me all over the place and I kept scraping my knuckles against the cement sidewalk. I felt like Frances�s kid over there�same way I feel like Bathsheba�s kid when we encounter Reene or Timalina. I just stand off away by myself and play with the dogs or my hair and look at the sidewalk and the street and the people passing by while the grownups talk. Shilo kept saying she needs a girl poet to come read at the governor�s school and she asked if I wanted to do it and I said I didn�t think so. I hate reading poems in front of people�I feel like such a used car salesman when I do that. I also hate that she kept saying girl poet over and over again. I ain�t a girl poet. I ain�t a poet either. Or a girl. Whatever. I still like Shilo and wish I were better friends with her�she�s such a freak and so not a girly girl and so opinionated and insecure. I love it. She also lives only about 3 blocks from me. Frances is reading at the governor�s school. Does this make her a girl proser? After that me and Frances went to the coffee shop and talked the good talk and then she drove me home because she had to get back to Hannah.

Anyway, the point is, I love talking to Frances.

Maybe I am a girl poet. There are worse things.

I am so excited by this weekend. Bathsheba is out of town. Frances is going back home. No plans. I have two projects I�m working on and I have much writing to do and I want to get my things in order and damn, I�m just excited by it all. Plus I got these fine looking tomatoes in my brown bag here that just promise me the days ahead are going to be good.