You know who didn�t leave until this morning? Justin didn�t. He would miss Basho too much, I bet. Either that or his plane got messed up and then he got some free plane tickets. Poor dear got a taste of my actual life. Boring and lonesome. No no, we had some excellent conversation. We both like literary theory (shh�don�t tell anyone this about me) and I agreed that it�s not the French I don�t like, it�s the French wannabe dorkheads in this country. The ones who say Paris that way. You know the ones. I am not interested in Europe. I like the backwoods. No culture for me please. Just give me the night sky and the wild wild earth.

I pretend that I�d like it otherwise, but I wouldn�t want to be less lonesome than I am. I like this blankness and I like days where no one in the wide world calls me up. I tried to explain to Justin about throwing out the machines and how I want to do that and how I want to walk everywhere and he sort of cocked his head at me and I bet he was thinking, should I ask? Uh�nope and then he said, �huh, interesting.�

I hate auto correct. Sometimes I do mistakes on purpose.

I have to make a card for a fellow worker bee right now. I am not in the right mood.

When did this sadness creep in? This may always be the fallout from guests�I collapse. What a marvelous word, collapse.

It�s a horrible word, really. A cruel and accurate word. I think of Maxa on the metal table, wrapped in a green towel, her eyes gone cloudy, and then, after the shot that killed her, she folded her body down down down and life collapsed.

calico calico calico
calculate (oh anything to keep the sadness stranded on that distant shore)
crenoline
canker
captive, capture, captivity
cajole
condescend
caducity (cruel cruel impermanence)
chemistry
chimera (that�s me)
caffeine
cincture
capsize
cloister
calamity (just behind my right eye)
cobalt
chemise
comfrey
caesura (say it out loud, I need to hear you say it)
compassion
creep (the verb)
cunning
concede concede concede
confusion (I�m naming all the stars)
cursory
compress
crush (the verb)
capacious
capricious
contuse
covalent
cove (my home I cannot find)
crow (the noun)
cry
cumber (remove)
chatter (drown)

Damn. I�m supposed to feel better now. I think and think of the words and I forget to feel despair. It�s like doing math. It�s like figuring out who in the room has been through the greatest percentage of the country. It�s like ripping up paper just so you can tape the pieces back together as perfectly as possible. The answer is no. The answer is always no.

I�ve lost my way again, I�ve lost my way. What do people wonder about me when I sneak away when I can�t think of one thing to say because I can�t understand the words that come out of your mouths. I tell you I cannot pay attention. I tell you I have no interest in conversation. I want only to sit with my dog out in the wild wilderness. I want the air to scrub me clean and I want to strip off all my clothes alone and dive right into the cold cold water.

The day: crisp hard clean sun.

The brain: heated and collapsible.

I have scratches all over my hands. Don�t know from what. And one Basho puncture wound. That�s from when we sat outside in the backyard all day. That�s from Saturday.

I want to step outside and walk in my brown shoes with Basho beside me (no leashes god no leashes) and we will walk to Frances�s and Jeff�s house, across the wilds, and it will be hard and cold and we will sometimes feel we will never make it and when we get there I will curl up on their bed and Frances will play her favorite songs in the next room on the record player and Jeff will build porches and stairs to nowhere and they will not mind me at all.

I want to turn my face to a blank white wall and stay there for all time.