This morning, after rising late, I did not hurry through my morning ablutions. Instead, I peeled the last grapefruit and ate it in bed, looking out on the sun-drenched morning. It wasn�t yet hot. The fan blew my hair about my head and juice made my face and fingers sticky. I listened most intently to the radio but can�t seem to recall anything I heard. I thought about how, if I had a roommate, I wouldn�t be able to walk about my house in the morning like I do. I thought about how feeling lonesome all by yourself is a much simpler feeling than feeling lonesome in the company of others. I thought about how I prefer my own self to most anybody else and can�t imagine the anybody else who I�d like to fill up the corners of my life. I can�t see who that anybody else would be. Except Bash, who is the best company I�ve ever had. He is canine perfection, my dog.

Speaking of which, I don�t trust pet-less people. And also, I hate the word pet. Bathsheba (are ye back yet lady? I miss you) and I talked about how we hate that word. It�s got nothing to do with my creatures. They are mine but I am theirs too. They are my intimates, my best most constant companions, my prophylaxis against loneliness, depression, violence, rashness, carelessness.

Speaking of rashness, I have been unfair to crazy Tia. She brought me fresh delicious peaches and unbelievably tasty homegrown tomatoes yesterday. Tomatoes so indelibly perfect, I can never go back to grocery store tomatoes that may look pretty but that taste like nothing so much as water. Tia is crazy, yes. But she is a kind-hearted woman and I consider that my highest compliment. I�m not like the wind though. That�s still true.

Today is supposed to be hot. Hell hot. Already I long to be immersed in water, to be swimming and to be alone. This drought is particularly sad when I go to the lake. Whole swaths of what used to be water are now beach. Green beach because the land has been uncovered for so long, fresh green grass is growing. In the middle of the lake you can see areas of fresh green grass. It�s a mighty disheartening sight. We need so much rain.

I would like someone to care for me. The way family does. I�m tired of holding up the tent poles all by myself. Can I expose my contradictory nature any further? I wanted company and to be alone. That is the bloody motto of my life.

Speaking of mottos, one thing I loved about the old apartment on 47th St. was that we had this Langston Hughes poem hanging up by the front door (like a mezuzah, like protection, like consecration):

Motto
I play it cool
And dig all jive
That�s the reason
I stay alive.
My motto,
As I live and learn
Is:
Dig and be dug
In return.