Forgive me, I’ve had two glasses of wine.

I wonder if my teeth are how they were in Ohio–purple and smiling.  I drank a lot of wine that summer in Ohio and I became very accustomed to that drunk: a wine drunk, rich with joy and forgetfulness, very different from the torrents of drunk I would have from Gin and Orange Juice.  Of course, I was in love both times and was probably trying to escape something; or, I was young, or both.

I had a plan tonight: Call my sister, Kelly, and pose a question; here’s how I think it would have gone:

“Kelly, ask me what I love more than anything besides friends and family.”

Kelly would be chasing a kid or peeling a potato or just simply living the American dream and would not know, or pretend not to know.

“Books.  That’s what.”  And she would say, “Ah, yea, I could have guessed that.” But could she have?  Growing up, I didn’t read much.  Sure, I had the Roald Dahl fascination, but I was mostly concerned with the way books lined up on a shelf, the way they added up to something as a whole and what it might have meant to have read all of them.  I remember sitting up at night in my friend Craig’s room, looking up in his closet at the shelf above his clothes.  There was a whole line of books and it was rife with adult classics and I assumed he just must have read all of these and I was in awe.  I said, there’s no way I’ve read this many books and he just kind of laughed–Craig had it figured out–and said, sure I have.  Well, I think Craig was wrong, but he had good intentions.

When I need a break at work, I go into a small room with a built in desk and kick off my shoes and put them up and adjust my sitting posture and open up a book and read.  The world goes on outside and it’s not like I can’t hear it, I can.  But I can ignore it or soak it up or even appreciate it, in those moments.

I want to read all of Sue Grafton’s Alphabet novels.  These started in 1982 with “A is for Alibi” all the way up to “V is for Vengence” which I think came out in the last few years–that’s something, that series.  Mystery novels with the same detective, but I would like to be a completist and read them all.  Of course, I own all of the Sherlock Holmes stories and novels, I suppose I could begin there.  If it’s good enough for the BBC, then it’s fucking good enough for me!

My therapist said an interesting word to me the other day: “projection”.  I had heard it so many times, but never in connection with my behavior and it explained so very much!

I should be volunteering to help tutor kids to write.


Kevin Crispin
What do you think is up to my right in the picture? A cob web? Probably a cob web. Or maybe it's my Beatles records on top of my air conditioner. It's certainly not fresh, new wainscoting.

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