2013-10-13 - 10:55 p.m.
those lonely friends who gaze at sleeping babies
you haven't seen him in several years, and you're surprised by the hint of a double chin, an early intimation of jowls. he's developed the barrel-shaped physique of an aging college athlete, a children's sports coach, somebody's dad.
he has a beautiful daughter, already two years old.
more often than not, you are still mistaken for a child. you look at the sticky, sleepy toddler under the broad span of your friend's hands. before you see her next, she will probably be turning the pages of chapter books, applying eyeliner with a heavy hand, taking the train to midnight shows in the city.
how do other people manage to grow older, finish their degrees, build families and careers? the same things keep knocking you down, over and over again. everything keeps moving on.
* * *
reading: baba yaga laid an egg.
listening to: torn green velvet eyes - the magnetic fields.
working on: a backlog of emails, as i have been away for several weeks.
in the garden: the hurricane lilies put on a great show, but i missed it. now, it is time to set out the mums and pumpkins.