Friday, May 04, 2007


I leave tomorrow morning for my monthly tryst with the Goat Man. I have been counting the days, and lying to all my visitors about what the count-down calendar on my front door is actually referring to, for almost two weeks. I was all set for him to come here, but he had to cancel, so I am doing the driving again, but bringing all the five tons of food I had laid in in anticipation of his arrival. One of these days it is going to be his turn, unless he cuts his losses and heads off in search of greener [or maybe, in this case, less green] pastures... Please, God, let it last a while longer...

It's hard to say what I will find on arrival in the Big Woods. At least I know now that it's strictly pumped water and an outhouse, so I have a couple of the big surprises out of the way. SHEESH. Anyone would think he thought he was living in Vermont. What's a California/Vermont hippie doing in Massachusetts, anyway? Maybe there are cultural riches to Southern New England I have yet to plumb...

I have this fantasy that once his school year is over, I might see more of him. But I am working hard to remind myself that that is exactly what it is: a fantasy. But it's a pleasant one, for all that. If other people can get off on imagining that their live-in partner is the FedEx guy or the repairman, I think I can dream of seeing my Goat more than once a month with something resembling impunity. No?

In the meantime, I am leaving the bulk of my work on my last deadline for the month for Monday, instead of working over the weekend as any sane person would do. But, given the choice of getting my work done or getting laid, I think the choice is pretty clear. How about you?

Hello, old lovers, wherever you are,
I hope your troubles are few.
Cling very close to each other tonight:
I've been in love like you.

Right around now, actually...

Hang in there, guys.
I do my best.

Oh. He said he loved the poems...

1 comment:

  1. Belated here to wish you a good weekend. Hope it was good and lived up to your best expectations.