November 11th, 2002

2020 lack of vision

reality confirmed

Further to my post about getting business cards (remember?) on Friday night I have now (again, for the first time ever) been able to give a business card to a friend who needed a roach.

Little anniversaries.
2020 lack of vision

potluck friday (still growing up)

Visited a snake and a cat and two friends on friday. The snake was long as the River Thames on Jo's wall, and fat and sleepy and cross when we called it by breathing. In a diary on top of the cage was a list of everything it had ever eaten, each pinky and fluffy and hammy pinkie that had passed into those indifferent jaws. The cat just purred and purred and purred, even when you were being quite mean to it, and, as for the friend, well, she makes me feel awkward as blueberry pie. That would be the friend who didn't live there, the one who complains that I don't dare get out of my comfort zone, and so will never grow. I dropped round to her place first, to pick her up. She lives in one of those strange old great big houses, full of dark furniture and frightening wallpaper, in a large room with too many mirrors, and a crotchety old landlord downstairs. It looks like the beginning of an experimental horror film and sometimes she reminds me of a ghost herself, with her pale skin and tragic air, but not the sort of ghost who would hang around and moan; the sort who would swing an axe at you if you went down alone into the wrong dark cellar. She brought homemade tiramisu and I brought lebanese snacks from the deli and our friend with the cat and the snake and the soft comfortable floor made a tagine of vegetables and as an introduction to the concept of potluck it wasn't so bad, though I'd never really considered potlucks as things that actually happened outside of Alison Bechdel comics. (Currently showing on Planet Out.)
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