The other still-summer evening R and I went to a park I hadn't been to in a very long time to eat pizza and read together. (R: An autobiography of Jean Genet; Me: The most recent graphic novel of Alison Bechdel's from the library, Spent).
While there, my eyes moved to this one corner of the park that has cement walls (to actually make a corner of sorts) this weird memory unlocked for me. I'm not sure who it was with, and it must have taken place there years ago. What I remember is that me and the other person alternating sitting in metal lawn chairs (they came with the park) and laying on the grass, occasionally picking up baseball mitts and throwing a ball to each other. (Where the fuck had I gotten a baseball mitt?) Memory is a weird one, but it was such a surreal feeling to follow what my mind recalled had happened there: Even if I couldn't see the face or body of who I had been with.
*
Lately I've been sleeping deeper and having more complex dreams. There are so many reasons for this. I jot them down sometimes in the morning. A few days later I will re-read them and feel terrified in a way I did not feel while having them.
Be well; Be loved,
k.
image credit: Dmitry Osipenko
title credit: I'm still on my inexplicable Jets to Brazil kick.
