wallet

It's my sad lot to announce that Jeffrey the Snake has died. I finally thought to name him one night while watching Teemo watch him through the grass and a few mornings later found him curled up and cold. I dug him a burial site near where he'd hang out next to the kitchen door then left little Enkidu lying in his new bed while the dogs and I took a trip through the woods to ask the trees why they didn't keep him warm. I hoped I was wrong, I tried to wake him up, I read to see how long he might just be playing, but I couldn't wait to see a maggot leave his nose. He was still motionless in the same spot when we returned so I covered him with soil. I'd been moving keepsakes off the sun room shelves to make room for new memories and considered leaving the piece of labradorite I bought last year. The card it came with said it offered protection in times of transformation, which it was good for, so I buried it with Jeffrey to protect him in his next shed.

I bought a new stone, one without a card or any prescribed identity. I couldn't find much online about it and I've already forgotten its given name, so I gave it the name Instar. I took cuttings of the backyard basil before the first freeze in the beginning of November, one of which rooted in a glass of water. There weren't many leaves to begin with, and I found that what I initially left had been eaten entirely by a stowaway. I'm not sure if he actually had enough to eat or if the cocoon he was able to weave with what he had is sufficient, but I moved him to a terrarium and I named him Cymru the Caterpillar.

I also bought a new wallet. My last one finally finished falling to pieces, so if you're wondering where all the microplastics came from I might know a guy. I considered clips before settling on a cigarette case. I was still searching for a solution to carry a smoke since losing one this summer, and this also houses a built-in lighter and a small deck of cards. I made a bespoke calling card for this demo but I think I might update the generator to contour the design around the arm. I have already updated the planner to add VJOURNAL support for the checklist view. My initial use was to print a head of my backlog each week, but I've since changed myself specifically not to do that. I like the feel of having something there, and it looks like a canvas to experiment with forecasts or fortunes. I could have a recipe show up for a specific date. Or a paid advertisement! This week I added a copy of Sunday's chalice lighting and extinguishing words.

I was the worship associate at a service last month. The theme was hope, and I read through The Four Quartets beforehand in search of inspiration. We dedicated a Little Free Library that day and on its top shelf I saw Eliot, who I still don't quite know for the twentieth or so time, staring back at me. I watched North by Northwest and thought about a guy I know who left Long Island for a brief tour of the Midwest and now rides trains around the mid-Atlantic drinking tea and cocktails with his blonde girlfriend. In the sequel, Guy From Nassau takes a detour through Florida, where Gay Man is born in the forest just outside the castle walls with a rusted spoon in his mouth unaware of his eventual meeting with Guy From Bucks.

I started to clean and reorganize after Thanksgiving, which somebody framed as seasonal nesting. I hung some art and prepared the plants for winter. I printed new pictures for a new album and in the background of several shots noticed the same woman. First she was at a potluck sat two tables over from me, then a gardener at a tavern, then in a car driving by a food truck. I stared into her madeleine eyes and remembered her from every meal I'd ever eaten. I went to a tea house and waited and tried not to be obvious when she walked in the door. I played coy and invented some excuse as an invitation for her to join me. We clinked, I sipped and slipped into a wakeless sleep. I dreamed of brambles and a cardinal caught in the thorns. The radiators banged as a draft cut through the house rattling the chains holding the lights over the houseplants. I leapt from the bed straight to the ceiling, looking back down at my slumbering self. Through the window I saw him pulling up the roses by the roots. I flew down the stairs as fast as I could but I couldn't unlock the door. I banged on the glass and shouted. Jacob, it's me! I'm still here! But he couldn't hear, or wouldn't listen.

A friend and I attended a guided tour of a local cemetery then I volunteered at the homestead open house. I recently heard somebody remark about people studying history to understand where they came from, but for all my treasure hunting I still have blind spots in my own personal history. If every story is Gilgamesh then consuming any story is a search for lost time, which is a nice distraction from actually finding it.

Some Guy boarded a train I was on then struggled his way through getting dumped over the phone. He explained to his then former paramour that they must have been emotionally damaged in the past, that they take things too hard, that one day someone's going to tell them the truth. He said that he tells people the truth, and I thought about sharing some truth with him instead of gossiping about his heartbreak to the Internet, and about whether some piece of our inner ears might be wired like noise canceling headphones collapsing the songs of ourselves. I packed both thoughts up with the other clutter to send back into the world and make space to host my holiday party this weekend. We ate s'mores in the kitchen and played games in the dining room. I ordered dips and in the reflection of the food tray I saw a name for myself.