A man on TV said this was a “no man is an island” situation

Here is why I don’t believe in having fish as pets: I do not like to own things I can’t hold. I told the neighbor I named the fish that lives on our dining room table Sarah Jessica Parker because it was frivolous, and he said “exactly right. Sarah Jessica Parker is why we are in this mess right now. And also all of those teenagers who owned Mercedes in high school.” He is a financial analyst and walks worriedly now. If we’re being honest, the only thing that happens to that fish is I eat in front of it and poke at it, which would seem like the right thing to do with Sarah Jessica Parker in a bowl. 

So anyway that’s why I paid my credit card bill in full today. Also I didn’t leave the house so I didn’t use any gas. That’s two things I did to not contribute to impending world crises. Three if you include not showering. This does not make me feel all that great. 

Only people who are really happy or really sad stare at normal things with abnormal attention: I’m on vacation and this abandoned house is special; I am in love and these old christmas lights are beautiful. Today I marveled at the one pound of canned crab. Marvel is such a stupid way to say it but I think that’s what I did. It would take me hours to get that much crab out of actual crabs. A lot of cracking and twisting and pulling that I have completely avoided today on September twenty-ninth two thousand and eight, which feels like its own little tiny crisis. 

We used to catch crabs on the beach, very small ones that I can’t remember ever eating. At night we’d go out and look for where the tiny bubbles came up in the sand and then dig and dig. We’d put them in buckets. It was on the sand that squeaked when you walked on it, not the sand of this side of the continent. Sometimes you’d catch the bigger ones crawling across that sand and you’d follow them with your flashlight while someone else ran after them with a net. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d like to be right now than on those shores with impossibly white, noisy sand catching ghost crabs. That’s what we were then: a piece of the continent; a part of the main. 

Post a Comment

Your email is never shared. Required fields are marked *