trixel

"come, come, let's sleep

and in the morning I wake satisfied
because the first thing I see is your eyes
it makes me stumble into my day
I like to try things your way
thinking about them your way

this is how I pray
by checking ourself at the peak of each bright day
to chalk it up to another painfully perfect way
anyway, i'm gonna bring back a new song

come, come, let's sleep"

-come by kinnie starr

I've had a pleasant couple days.

I made headway and finally (I'm ashamed to admit this) unpacked the boxes which were piled in my bedroom still. *hangs head in shame* My place is starting to look like a home. sorta. Hell, I might actually have humans into this place. I hear people do this thing called A Dinner Party.

Last night when I was coming in my front door with a cup of cafe americano -- supposedly decaf but spuriously so as I had a massive manic jag approximately 45 minutes later -- a boy comes in carrying his bike over his head. He stops as I'm pulling my mail out of my mailbox, and goes: "hey, you're the Rope Girl! I've got your rope if you want come down to Apartment D and get it!"

I assured him I had plenty more, but said I might come by sometime and say hi. *grin* His name is Jeff. Kinda cute dorky cyclist guy. It's nice to be getting to know people in my building.

Then, while moving all the crushed boxes to recycling at the back of the building, I had a nice encounter with a guy searching through recycling for beer cans. He helped me pick up a bunch of boxes I'd dropped when I'd crashed through the door. He asked me if I had an extra garbage bag. I said I'd get one. I admit to pulling the door to the building shut behind me.

When I got back downstairs he was walking up the alley: I guess by my gesture he assumed I'd blown him off. I ran up to him and gave him the bag. He had an intense smile.

**Did you know that a number of south american countries (damn my ADD memory for not remembeing names) have the most extensive paper waste recovery percentages due to street and low income people recovering the paper? In some cases, the government has started cooperatives with them to provide them with carts to transport the paper they recover. **

Just now as I was taking the busses back from seeing my mom at the hospital, I had a couple cute experiences: a gay boy and girl talking in whispers about "The Bathhouse." I had to smile.

And at the front of the bus, this aboriginal couple with their baby son. He started howling, the father took his keys and played this intricate percussion with them for the rest of the ride. The baby stopped crying. People started cooing over him. It felt like the bus was enjoying the music: the keys jangling and clicking.

I love public moments of communal spirit.