This morning was drenched in lovely fog, and I sat on a wet wooden chaise lounge on the deck with a cup of burning lemon ginger in the grey. I wanted to ride a bike while the fog was thick and my contacts were still off, giving me thrills via double blindness, but I couldn't get the lock undone.

So instead, I admired the garden that Smilie has planted, and then retreated to make use of the free laundry services.

The blanket that Lindsey gave me is pieced together of old silk scarves and has the name Helen crudely embroidered in one corner. I washed it on the very delicate cycle in Hot cold water, and watched it the whole time by pressing a key into the pocket where the top should go. It was especially hypnotizing being the only article in the whole machine, and due to it's brilliant color scheme. When it spun dry, it looked like salmon colored entrails clinging to the side of the ride.

My thoughts have been unwillingly and frequently gory. I see impalings with cello bows, out of mid-air I imagine that my wrist has a velcro pocket that I can undo and let my blood spill out. It feels like people's bodies are just going to fall apart in front of me, in a mess of the macabre. Life is so elephantine, and it is housed in this delicate shell that can be stilled with just a prick to a central organ, or a kick to a particular sweet spot in the skull. I am not trying to think it. I imagine that it is just some side effect that will wear off.

I also watched Fantasia in it's entirety this morning. This was my parent's first date, I remembered while viewing. They watched Fantasia in the movie theatres. Which got me to wondering if Fantasia is in part responsible for my parents falling in love, vicariously dictating my birth? It's not absurd. That is probably why I watched it in the buff.