I went on a walk over lunch today. It was in the low 90F but I needed to go to the post office and my vitamin D (well, along with everything else) is off so I figured soak it all in at once, right? Across the street was a square of long grass smashed by the wind and sun baked in place and in those were these Tim Burton-like stalks of dead flowers. I pegged them for weeds since I tend to like weeds or in the very least invasive wildflowers, but this one turned out to be the seeding stage of a flower. I couldn’t begin to tell you what it was now. In one ear, out the other.
Founders Memorial: Gene Horvath sculptor
Someone at work asked me if the dude in the back was a “black man”. I took them all to be the same race as the Statue of Liberty if we were going by skin color. These particular dudes were supposed to be fording the Rock River or something. I thought they were depicting a typical death in Star Trek.
Downstairs neighbors were setting fireworks off from 1AM to 3:30AM Sunday night. Right on the front steps to the building with the front door open. They’d run in and out and slam the doors and laugh like hyenas and bang bang all night. I finally went out there and yelled at them. Which brings me to my trusty cricket bat. I wasn’t sure they were drunk or on drugs because who in their right minds would do what they were doing, so I kept near my open door with my bat just inside. I get rather scary when in these situations. I am not sure why I was given a really good “mom voice” as I don’t want to be a mom and I hardly look 18. All I know is that inside every male, no matter how old, is a little boy and you can always tap into that.
Wasn’t until after that I remembered I wasn’t wearing a bra and was dressed like a jock (hey, need to wear that volleyball camp shirt from 1998 somewhere dude). I tried going back to bed but I was too pumped. Wanted to go out there for a few more rounds. Next time I will get everything I have to say out. Called the landlord the next day and he couldn’t have seemed less concerned. Said I should have called 911. Sorry, dude. It is like world war three out here leading up to the 4th of July. You can hear explosions for miles. If the cops wanted to do something about it they’d be doing something about it. And they’d ask me if I had asked them to stop yet or not. Oh, and I am looking for a new place. Thanks for being so concerned with your tenant of four years. :p
Every Friday night there is a market down by the river near where I work. I don’t normally go down there because of all the gluten stuff they have a surplus of (wood fire pizza, artisan breads…the smell makes me sick feeling), but they have a few non-gluten stuff too so last Friday I went down and picked myself up some ripe peaches. They were yum.