folkmusic is good at nine in the morning. i am wearing three shades of clashing red & no socks.
this morning i dreamt that st francis was suddenly this monsterhuge parish & that the host ran out, so father was consecrating any sorts of food he could find (including cumin seeds). i was looking on spy-ishly from behind a pillar. somehow connected with this was a scene involving chris reading old e-mails of mine out loud, & my harboring a pretty girl in my room (which was not my room) & wondering how i could possibly score with her. �so sometimes i am glad to wake up::: dreams are confusing.
but yesterday jeffboy-who-shares-my-birthday came to visit & between us we bought too many records, up & down high street. oh my.
