Our african violet still flourishes beneath its coat of cat hair and brown sugar.
I watched from the balcony as people left their houses and apartments with food, easter baskets, and bottles of alcohol under their arms. They were each of them alone, going somewhere else.
Just when I thought there was nothing left with which to wipe our bottoms, I found a roll of paper towel under the sink, and it has proved soft enough. This seems like a silly worry, especially in light of the fact that many people today are remembering a man who was skewered by nails and mounted on wood.
When I went out to the balcony a second time to sip my fresh coffee and watch the monstrous crow across the street sway on high, spindly branches, there were young parents in the street counselling their children with demands of Don't run! and Be good! and Get out of that puddle! I thought about how the children I will not have might have worn yellow rubber boots.
I remembered how my old cat, Pepper, used to stay out at all hours when the weather finally warmed up, and my mother would stand out on the front step in the dark calling Here, pussy, pussy, pussy! I could hear it echoing around the neighbourhood. That embarrassed me to no end.
I had a ninety-minute nap in which I dreamt that time was like a noodley rubber tube. I had the good fortune of being allowed a peek down this tube, and, man, reality is a pretty fucking cool place.
I made big messes all over the apartment, because when I spring clean, I make things much worse before they get better:
Luckily, the crazy mess pictured above has since been partially remedied. That bed? It's not even in the room anymore. I am way strong.
And now? I am drinking red wine out of a brushed metal wine glass and waiting for warm sheets to come out of the dryer while watching a disturbing episode of "Medium", which I am starting to think is a harder-core version of the pornification of woman-hate that "Law & Order" does so well.