I left the sleeping bag from my childhood in NY when I visited Cassie there in 2007, and she dragged it with her to the Graham Ave apartment where it stays (though she didn't). During my visit in early June, David confirmed that it's still there. He didn't offer it to me, and I didn't ask for it back. I took this as a mutual understanding about the absurd superstition surrounding it-- that it's supposed to be there, somehow-- like I left it in 2007 so that he could sleep in it in 2009 and I could ask about it in 2012, and that perhaps its full power has not yet been revealed to us. Any disturbance of its sacred placement might drastically alter 2014. Or maybe they use the sleeping bag sometimes. Or maybe I just didn't want to take it on the plane. Or maybe I've read one too many novels about Beverly Hills art dealers flying up to Canada to become the unwitting apprentice of an elderly shaman. But because he didn't offer, because I didn't ask, because I'm hell bent on observing some quasi religious "feeling" I have, and most importantly, because I have a camping trip coming up, James and I went to Big 5 to get a new sleeping bag. Its brown and lined with navy blue and white plaid flannel and that's all I have to say about it, so far.
That period of unemployment was all too brief. I write to you from the trenches at my latest temp station, where I have very little to do and almost zero human contact. Some of my tasks, such as unstapling stacks of surveys for two straight weeks alone in a room, might just as easily be performed by a student worker, prisoners in deep isolation, or a jar of mayonnaise hooked up to a keyboard. This has been good practice for when James leaves for Humboldt State at the end of the month-- I've already learned how horrible it feels to be alone, so it should be a smooth transition from alone 8 hours a day to alone 24 hours a day. I've jumped headfirst into all my lonely-time activities, with positive results. Constantly streaming NPR at work just to hear human voices has made me aware of current events for possibly the first time. I now have time to catch up with long lost friends via g-chat and facebook-- so great to finally be back in touch with the weird girl from high school and the guy who refused to dance with me at the 8th grade cotillion! Best of all, since my tasks require no brain power, I can use all that otherwise unstimulated gray matter to dream up situations that are more appealing. Meanwhile, my pleasant phone demeanor and uncanny tolerance for customer service are atrophying from disuse. Can't wait to be on to the next. Now accepting: advice.