I've been getting frustrated with looking like a little kid wearing my dad's shirts. I always buy my clothes a little large and loose, as all fat people should (please). I've lost quite a bit of weight lately, though, so I've been walking around in these huge shirts that look like David Byrne's suit jacket (though not nearly as cool). Then, this morning, I discovered, behind a couple of old suit jackets, a stash of shirts from long ago when I was the same size I am today. I am nowhere near fashionable enough for a few years to make much of a difference with regard to style, so I now have several more shirt options that actually fit me. Is this exciting or interesting? No, not really. It was, however, a pleasant little surprise for a guy in the closet like me. (I mean, I'm not in the closet now. I came out this morning, after I put my old shirt on.)
Did I really just write an entire paragraph about shirts? Wow. I think I have the opposite of writer's block sometimes. Some things don't deserve to be written. Nevertheless, I press on, having one more thing to share.
I saw Coyote again this morning, that mischievous rascal. He was standing in the field near the highway. He had a distant look in his eyes, so I decided not to approach him. A conversation with him is time wasted anyway. He only tells lies. Don't get me wrong. There is, contrary to popular myth, too much time. Some of it must be wasted. Besides, his are the most wonderful sorts of lies, and his joking is hilarious. Today, though, I think he was running through fields of memories, so I let him be and went on my way.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
