January 27th, 2002

caillebotte_man at his window

After the Rain

The nearly full moon shines through thin cirrus clouds, and wisps of fog float through the pines. Only rarely do I hear a drop of water fall from the trees. No night birds call, no breeze stirs the chill air, no dog barks. The silence is as palpable as was the afternoon's dense fog. I must remember to come out to watch the moon set through the small gap in the trees tonight. It will be as it must have been for those thousand of years when there was no town, but only the forest and the wild creatures, when the native tribes had gone down to the valley for the winter. I will think myself back to that time and enter the solitude of a world without names.
caillebotte_man at his window


When I was cooking tonight, the hot olive oil splashed out of the pan and burned one of my knuckles.

I've been having a lot of things happen to my knuckles, recently.

I wonder if it could be a sign?

(But, a sign of what? ::he asks himself::)

That I should knuckle down?

That I am going to give someone a knuckle sandwich?

That someone is going to give me a knuckle sandwich?

That I will go to prison and have a cellmate named Knuckles?


Prophesy is just too difficult.

caillebotte_man at his window


My mouse was sticking. It couldn't seem to put the cursor where I wanted it. I opened it up. It was full of cat hair! Cat hairs, wrapped around that little roller. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? I mean, cats should be full of mouse hair, shouldn't they? Stupid mouse. Stupid cat.

Anyway, it works now. The mouse, I mean. Not the cat. Cat always worked. Massages (with just a bit of claw,) wake-up calls (sometimes even at the right hour,) relaxing purring (for those times of stress,) entertaining hijinks (for those times of boredom.) Yup, cat works just fine. I just wish she wouldn't leave hair around for the mouse to pick up.