Yesterday's brave foray into philosophizing about what sort of nut decides to have at a jardin with a sickle rather than shears, went down with the machine which we were unwisely playing with at the same time.
I was very impressed with my sickle skills and what I managed to get done to the garden during a quiet moment yesterday afternoon, in between brunch with Rob and Kitty, rollerblading on my own and the desolate discovery that my calves were cramping and probably atrophied, and dinnertime.
There's a good twenty hours of work left, pruning and weeding and outright tearing of nasties from the ground, rock-moving and general tilling.
If I can find a hardware store during my wander uptown tomorrow, I might just grab a few sharp and clever edges.
Saturday's club night began with tension, fell into dancing, ended with stool-tumbling antics, rampant nose-picking, more than I ever thought I could learn about fisting techniques and diceless role-playing games from various refreshing conversations...
The man that wouldn't dance, danced, the boy that never talks, told me a story about his hair,
Scatological puns that lasted through until brunch on Sunday
and through it all
arms
mouth
bum
perfect skin
the silhouette of this or that tattoo, the first mutter of the morning,
an unexpected polka to the last song in the bar, jaunty and filled with life
a thousand tensions, armfuls of tears already as this or that shop-awning with it's horrendous american logo, or this or that gesture - not opening your passenger's door first, not meeting people's eyes in the street, not reaching forward, not responding, not offering to drive blocks out of your way just for the sake of eliciting a smile.
So many things missing in this city, despite the hopping wit, the freely hurtled discussions.
The caf� with the beautiful black man and his beautiful words, his beautiful hands and the freely given headrub as he was leaving, barely marred by the NASTY-assed coffee, and yet somehow, just a little, marred by the too-wide streets and unfamiliarity.
But this, this concrete mess, I've hated it everywhere, and this initial rebellion will calm itself.
In the meantime, there are already so many new faces clamouring for continuation, enough of them smiling with their entire jawlines, that perhaps
I am actually ready to believe
or perhaps ask someone else to believe with me
that by leading by example, the biggest holes that France left in my heart I will find ways to plant, germinate, and cultivate here.
As for Rob's warning about the politics and status-games of this scene?
Rob, ch�rie, I appreciate ever so deeply your warnings
but I really did mean it when I giggled into my hand
and announced that I don't care.
Not about that. Not about ego-games from insecure hearts with nowhere else to go.
I have everywhere to go, and my heart brimming enough to take me there.