Dear Larcy
it’s strange how you can find me. you always do, don’t you?
I’m sitting here, post load-shedding, attempting productivity (did i tell you my productivity levels in this office have gone up oh, i don’t know 99% wah since you left? wah. hehe4) and not working and instead making a 1996 cd.
Yes, as in compilation tape but it’s a cd, told you. it’s 1996. told you told you told you.
Anyway, so I’m here, and doing it, furrowed brow and muffin in hand, and thinking i wish i could run the tracklist past you first before well, completing it.
I know you’d insist on Seether and throw in a bangles number because that’s the way we roll. hehe4. Then we’d talk about presentation, you’d throw in a smarm comment about getting someone else to do it, and we pretend it doesn’t happen and think about lunch instead.
I eat some more of the muffin and you’d laugh about it being 1996 and ask me if i have a blanket shirt on today.
I’d stab you in the eye with a spoon and you’d regale me with your recent story of how NOT to domestically succeed in the kitchen, without turning it into a nuclear warzone. (cf. a Jenkins recipe book – Cook Everything on High!)
You’d snark a comment about it all, and I’d laugh and regale you with how retarded I am in the dark.
If it were happening here, we’d both be freaking out, about tomorrow being the 17th april and the breeders and how it would be, how we would lean on each other and feel. Instead, I am working towards a massive seance type movement with you. Transcontinental Purge, we called it.
I finish my muffin, and begin burning said 1996ness cd, and then, it comes on iTunes.
Better Be Home Soon – The House.
It is then that I know, that with our MTV telepathy, boiling kettles, exploding appliances, wormy salads, dash of milk in cereal, 12s ahoy and matching cycles, that you are with me every day.
just tell me all the things you would change. i’ll wait for you to come around and spin my talk.
=)
love you larcy.