The riddle of Bruce is a weird one. I can't quite grasp it. I know I could spend alot of time trying to figure it out if I wanted to avoid writing which is what I'm doing right now.
I think the reality is that he doesn't even have the key to himSELF so there's really no way I would suddenly have the key, like in my apron pocket in a dusty Henry James governess novel. My role in the Bruce Lives Here Right Now saga is I am part of the couch and the kitchen. So I can graciously accept my role and work up my oscar speech for how effective I have been as open and caring loving family member, and I can thank Ireland and my mom (oh wait that was an actual speech at the Oscars) I can realize that the spotlight is over there, where I'm not looking, and I can leave that spotlight to itself.
I can try and comfort little Nathan Detroit who had four teeth stolen from his face a few days ago and is now writhing in agony with something he thinks is called dry socket which sounds like a golf hazard. He's about to pour some antibiotics into himself and I told him he'll be okay, I really can't do anything there either except make jello and pat his leg, which is what I've done. I still look at him like he's 3. He's just a giant 3. He's so adorable. I would put him in a carseat and keep him forever.
Bess just finished her last finals and only has a few more months at her first year in college. She didn't enjoy her antarctica class and found her buddhism class lacked zen. Her film class had a horrible teacher but her environmental class was easy. For her film final she wrote an answer to a vocab term up her arm in case she forgot it but then she didn't need it.
Evie is in Germany eating fat pretzels and saying fuck you USA for a few more days. She and her friend are faking german accents because it makes you sound like you are a bavarian ass kicker and I recommended visiting the BMW plant and leaving a flower there for her brother's humble devotion to his car.
B and I just entering contests and trying to get my writing out in the world.
Is it me or is everyone constantly dissolved in the minute you're in, and then outside yourself saying you'rewastingyourdaywhatareyoudoing and then making some food and then the sun packed its bags and left and there's still some weird guy in your kitchen who sighs alot and then I get in bed and read one page and fall asleep.
Modern times. Not just a charlie chaplin movie.
