A Pocket Archive (8)

I forget how tall my friend is sometimes. He makes the couch look so small, like an elf sitting in a chair that was made for hobbits. He's been experimenting with his ocarina for over an hour now, and it almost works. He plays by ear, like me. Nona keeps staring at him with wide moon eyes, and she seems utterly baffled by the instrument. She won't come out from her hiding place behind the legs of my easle, which isn't doing anything at all to conceal her. She's like an elephant trying to hide behind a palm tree.

It's storming outside again. I feel like I've been running around since 7 this morning. I had been planning to read tonight and avoid everyone, but I don't mind my present company. Most of his visits are unexpected but welcome, and half the time we just sit in the same room and don't say anything at all. Somehow seeing him makes me miss the small, neat little apartment with peeling wallpaper in Moscow and the smell of wet leaves. It's nice having friends who don't drain my social battery and are just there, totally comfortable with drinking tea in silence. I think having him around helps with my anxiety too; I have a bodyguard and no one will hurt me with him here. Russians aren't the best when it comes to emotional support, but they're loyal, straight-forward, reliable, and the best friends one could ask for.

Thunder crackles and rain beats against the windows. The giant almost has the theme from Super Mario Brothers figured out. It will be interesting to see how his fishing lures turn out. I keep wondering what sort of monster lives out at Lonestar Lake. It's got to be massive if it keeps straightening out his fishing hooks and someone like him can't reel it in, assuming he isn't catching rocks. He just calls it "the whale", which makes me laugh. He is starting to remind me of Ishmael from Moby Dick. Maybe he should give up on lures and just try to harpoon it. It's probably a catfish. They apparently get very big here.

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Today was long, as Mondays always are, but it feels like fall out and my soul feels light. Pumpkin spice season is back and it feels wonderful. It won't last long, of course, but it feels so good after the heat.  I wish I could stay home and make soup or bread, but work waits for no one, especially my job. I should have brought a jacket with me; something soft and warm. Ironic that it would get so cold after I just restocked our ice cream. My boys won't mind though- I'm quite sure of that. It seems to be a guy thing. Men always seem to be about 20 degrees too warm. Jake didn't believe me when I told him I was cold. I joked that growing up in the north means nothing and I'm still a delicate flower, but he called told me I'm a dandelion. They grow through concrete and nothing can kill them. It's nice of him, but I sure don't feel strong. I seem to get a lot of odd compliments, now that I think of it: a dandelion, treacle-sweet, Susan and Peter from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Maid Marian, maybe a bit Beth Harmon-y but with people skills, etc, all of which make me feel good. What I mostly feel, however, is tired. I'm glad I don't make people uncomfortable (another lie I'd been fed). The world is unpleasant enough already. It's not my job to fix it, which is another thing I'm struggling to learn, but I still hope I make someone's day better. That would make even hard days worth it.

6pm. They're remodeling the cigar lounge. I don't know how I feel about the new flooring. The colors are odd. This tobacco blend, however is lovely; black cavendish that tastes like warm tea, books, and candles all at once. The blend is called rainy day and I like it very much. It's like having a library in your mouth.

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Gabby spotted a frog today. They put him in an empty container with some water, but he found a way out. Hopefully he's safe and hiding somewhere. I have always liked frogs.

I think I'm okay now. Very tired, but calm, safe, and better than I have for a long, long time. I should call my sisters soon. I miss them.

I'm really looking forward to fall.