The Bloom

Somebody I barely know told me I looked unhealthy yesterday, which, well let's just say it's not something that's often said of me. I can only suppose my ennui was showing. My ennui and my five hours of sleep and my thirty miles on a track bike and a peanut butter sandwich.

I ate and went home and ate some more, and it hailed like the end of the world was nigh.

I pulled the basil out of the window and shut the latter and watched as the streets filled first with debris and then with a river of soapy-looking water. The cat hid under the bed. I was fascinated.

This is the second time in recent weeks that we've had a freakish and dangerous weather incident that came on suddenly, and both times I had been about to set out someplace on foot and took a look at the sky and thought the better of it.

My kung fu is strong, though saying that will probably bring on a hurricane, which I will be out on the bike for.

I put myself to bed early last night, because I was sad and done with being awake. When I woke up, I was dreaming about punching somebody in the face. I often wake to fighting dreams, which tells you how I feel about morning - or the human race, I can never decide which.

There is a deep mess in me these days, and I am fighting with it, and maybe there are outward signs of that. It used to be that nothing ever showed on the outside; I was just built smooth somehow. That isn't true anymore. That comment about how I looked came when I was sitting, resting, in an unguarded moment. What I really think is that I looked unhappy. Because I am.

I spend a lot of time hiding it in daily life, but I won't hide it here. It's not the same as being depressed, apparently, because I am still enjoying the little details of being alive - when I walked into the kitchen this morning, I'd forgotten I bought apples at the farmers' market yesterday, and I was so pleased to see them.

They're what I think of as real apples. All heirloom: Russets and Keepsake and Cox's Pippin. The russets are the ugliest, and my favorite. They have this scratchy-gold sort of bloom on them, and then inside they are intense and tart and taste like nothing else on earth. Oh lordy, they are me. No wonder I love them so.

PS. Here are some pictures from Sunday, when it wasn't hailing at all.