Leo 17° (August 9)

 

A frosty morning of eighty some odd degrees. But we get a smooth start, heading up 95 to veer off, just before Portsmouth to head to what is referred to as camp, sort of. N. has rented the house on the site of what was her and S.’s aunt’s lakeside property. Their aunt is no longer with us; in fact neither is her original house; because not long after she died lightning struck it and it burned to a crisp. Her sons had a new house built and then sold it and that is the house S.’s family has rented. It is ideally situated on Great East Lake, to be sure, but, when I go there, I was so glad I had already arranged not to stay. It was small and stuffy with plaid and leather and I get a panic attack just typing about it let alone living in it with one, two, three, four, five, six, and one eight-year old, inlaws. I, who got not much done on the boat, need to head back to Reading to tackle some things.

I drove back down listening to Yacht Rock and upon hearing Cool Change by the Little River Band I knew the songwriter was a Cancer with his looking “at the full moon like a lover.” I stopped in Lynnefield at Whole Foods and got provisions. At this point I’m feeling exhaustion but soldier through. I get some wine. I stop in town for a CVS run and make it back to the house, feeling a bit like entering the batcave, given the garage scenario. Anyway, I’m not a suburban fellow in case you cannot tell. The guacamole I thought I bought turned out to be tomatillo something (with a little avocado but it’s not the same).

I caught up with Brad, West of the Rockies. He said he’d be dressed a certain way and then someone else was dressed exactly the same, walking in front of him, with white sox in sandals. The recognition came slowly. And to this day my instincts about this being some extra are correct, though I can never fully remember the exact why; all I know is that the dream never lasts long.

I never want to have a colostomy, needless to say. And I never want to be odorous on purpose. Sometimes a dinner of chips and tomatillo dip is enough if not more. I keep turning the temperature down and I think it just automatically keeps going up, which turns out not to be the case; as B. is controlling it from his phone or something. Whatever.

I will begin on booking the artists travel and get some laundry done in the meantime.

 

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree of the Sabian Symbol may be higher than the one listed here  as the symbols cluminate in the next degree. There are 360  degrees spread over 365 days.

 Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
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