9:47 p.m. - February 15, 2004
What the hell am I talking about?
Went to church and had the same inquisitive thoughts about the man who sings well and sports an alluring package under tight jeans. This is a man I'd call Daddy and not feel silly or embarrassed about it, the connotation simply being The Truth.
Went out to lunch - spinach in stone-ground corn tortillas with a tomatilla sauce - with A[deleted]a and discussed power relations and ethnic solidarity, about the university back east that's now home of a scholarship reserved for white students.
Came home, checked my email - none - and fell asleep in the living room. Dreamed of cats, one a Russian blue fur and the other a tabby, and piles of laundry hosting vermin over which the cats maintained watch. Woke up clutching and petting a couch cushion, urgently wanting a cat. A cat doesn't require much, simply a litter box and food and the outdoors, right? And the cat can get the picture and use the neighbor's plants as nightsoil repositories, so little would be asked directly. Far less so than a dog.
I would name a cat Xavier though I've heard felines best respond to the pitch of a glottal "eee" as pronounced in English. As in here-kitty-kitteeee.
Can Jason have a cat? Would the borrowed dog be jealous?
