Last night I dreamt I won a Pushcart Prize and my friends threw me a beach party.
This was not a sunny, key beach, mind you, nothing is that simple in my dreams, but an English one with dark gray stones and jagged edges and swelling cliffs. I like my beaches rocky. I like my water stinging. There were cold, white waves. But it was warm enough to wear a sweater and wade. We had our own cove, my friends and I, where we waited in the shallows for the boat that brought good news (it was a tugboat). Each cove had the name of a story or poem. The cove was named for my poem. We were not sure the boat was coming. Then, finally, it turned our way, and everyone cheered. I am not making this up. There was fire and cake. You were there, and you, and you, and you.
After a night of dreams, after a day of driving, all day, back to you, Ohio, nothing feels better than putting on a clean shirt--in this case, white cotton, ruffled, flecked with blue and pink flowers--and mascara.
I decide to dress up for dinner, though dinner is presently potato chips and a cherry soda.
I decide to be grateful to the trees for turning, some of them, early, so that I might see them before I go.
By the way, I love my new ibook, but it's my first mac ever, and I'm having trouble posting on blogger. Everything looks fine when I type, then when I push "publish," it's just a blank entry with a title. What am I doing wrong? Please help me! Send me an e-mail if you know what to do (girlversion@yahoo.com). I'm presently typing on my brother's old pc, but the mac is what I need to work. I give rewards.
By the way, my hair is the color of blood on sand, rust on a rusted thing.
