Last night I went to the beach with Karolina.
A couple things were really effecting:
She talked about a guy she had met while traveling whom she believes to be the one. She talked about how she'd felt the phenomenon I'd long ago, when I described to her my first meetings with
Knowing before I even knew that she was it. I'm not a whole-hearted believer in spiritual coincidences (more so now than then) but I'd had dreams about THE LITTLE REDHAIRED GIRL when I was 9. I shit you not.
Anyway, Karolina, described how this guy was, in so many ways, a composite of everyone she'd ever loved.
The phrase she said, very unsentimentally (sp?) that sent me reeling was:
I can't believe she's not a writer.
We sat in the car at a beach by a marina. The same beach I had gone to with THE FRECKLED GIRL a few days before. The beach where the dogs freely shit in the water.
Karolina and I had planned to sit outside in the sand, but it was extremely windy and cold (at LEAST 70 degrees!) so we moved into the cab of my truck.
Once inside, we experienced the wind third person. It came alive: the truck wobbled, we could hear it pushing against everything outside and yelling about the obstinence of the trees and the dozens of sailboats littering the marina waters. And, sitting in the warmth of the truck I suppose, our own obstinence as well.
Where I live, there are dogs at every corner where our fence meets our neighbors' fences. Those dogs wake me up every morning exactly one hour and a half before I schedule myself to wake up. Soon they will be dead. But I digress.
There are also pigeons outside my bedroom window. I'm not sure what kind of pigeons they are, but they don't make typical pigeon noises. They sound like two old people dry humping. Or like Master P when he's depressed.
In my haze of sleep, from which they are loud enough to wake me up, their sound is revolting as well as annoying. And there's not much I can do. Just rap hard and scarily on the window by my bed. They fly away. They come back 20 minutes later.
They break the peaceful gauze of sleep and I am in a mild rage at their waking me up (as well as the waking visions they cause of old people dry humping-why would old people dry hump anyway?).
About a month ago, after the third time they had come back with their dry-humping, I hit the window with such a velocity that I put my hand through the glass. The drapes kept me from getting cut.
I didn't know what to do as far as getting the maintenance people to fix it without it coming out of my pocket. So I taped some canvas I had left over from painting, over the window. But the canvas kept coming off. On top of that, I could hear the pigeons better (or worse) now that the window was gone.
Eventually I realized I had to come clean and get the fucking thing fixed:
"It had something to do with the pigeons I think…" I told the lady at the maintenance office. That was the truth. In a lawyer-esque way.
"You mean they flew through the window?" she asked.
"I dunno, I wasn't home, I just came home and it was broken. All I can think is that something happened with the pigeons. They hang outside my window." I didn't tell her about the dry humping.
I came home and it was fixed. But the pigeons were still there. Humping away.
Two days after they had fixed they window all was normal: I had drank a lot the night before, planned on taking advantage of thw weekend, sleep in, sleep through my hangover, the dogs were barking (each of the 5 neighboring dogs has a unique specific bark which allows me to hear each one simultaneously…they will all be dead soon…probably poison), the pigeons humped, I rapt on the glass to scare them away…
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