March 10, 1996 (#10) (and before ...)

Ahhhh, sweet unbleached, 50% post consumer waste wood pulp that receives my deepest whims,

Well my little soul starved puti, it finally happened and I couldn't do a thing about it. I packed up and headed east. "La Grande Pomme" or "pomme grande" or maybe "grosse", anydoodle, I planned to return to New York City, Manhattan don't you know. I love the desert, I loved everything to the east and west, the north and south of it, but running from your troubles doesn't make them go away. They only chase you faster.

Gads, how dreary.

So here I sit, not in my stellar sublet with a view of the river, but between the Rockies and the Adirondacks. I have completely thrown my earnest and sincere traveling companions for a loop. Speaking of the dog, he has become a bit peculiarly political, must be the German side. And let's not speak of Abattoir until spoken to.

So I made this decision around January, only to be set back with a bit of power steering trouble, physical as well as mental, in Russell, Kansas (heavens, Bob Dole country, but from what I experienced, I don't think Robert would recognize the place now!). Lucky the mechanics, while completely unreasonable in their pricing, managed to get me on my way after only a slight interminable delay where I slit my wrists just twice. Delicious.

Your three chappy travelers were on their way. The thought of sleeping near M. Dole's birthing was a bit much; we pushed forward. But I realized that I was still unripe to return to from whence I came and that perhaps my work was unfinished or something lofty enough to be a good reason why I changed my mind.

I did learn that I "make butt" in Kansas. It's a long story that you have to be in high school to understand, and please let's keep this above the waist. I'm in enough trouble as it is.

New friends electronically as well as in my journeys. I am just tickled that THE Verlene Long-LaBois is sending me all her news. I just don't know one person she talks about and she is always over there, but I feel so in that I just can't stop thinking about her. I could only hope to live half a life so grand and with such humility and fun. Some cutie put me on her list and I have gotten her loveliest bits of this and that and I swear you'll just have to start reading for yourselves! AND, best of all, she lives in a trailer too! But this lady is strictly international, I mean 18 button gloves, my little bustles.

Then there's James, an old acquaintance who has been visiting old dear friends and using my name to gain entrance to experiences that, well, they were somewhat advanced even para mi.

I was reviewed on some silly internet guide or similar. So.

I didn't give them a "Trudy Approved" sticker.

So.

I haven't heard squat from Palermo, but I have gotten another work from Sage, (strangely calming except this child needs a week at camp) and Zach seems to resurface but this boys has changed. Betty, Betty completely bowls me over. First these odd letters of her somewhat unusual but not too, family and now a cornucopia of movie reviews with more promised? My popcorn bowl sprouteth wings and, well finish the metaphor.

It was my birthday. Thank you. But don't feel bad for not remembering, because I am certain to forget yours. It's my nature and we mustn't waste negative emotions on this.

Candy makes the world go round, just remember to grease the pan.
Trudy.