sometimes, i will get a whiff of cumin and i will become disoriented, close my eyes, and believe, momentarily, that when i open them the rows of orange juice stands in Marrakech (a city of rose colored walls) will stand before me.
Alexandra Fuller has been in the news lately, and along with her Pinedale and Sublette County and i miss the harshness of Wyoming so much. i open my New York Times and am confronted with the dirt and the isolation and that sought after loneliness i lust after here in the land of SUV drivers doing lines of espresso off steering wheels. i miss the bone crunching cold and not having silence be something to conquer. i make so many promises, so many insha'Allahs that i will return - to wyoming, where a garage still holds a pair of long forgotten sandals and Morocco, where a country holds my heart.

my legacy in dust

today: hopefully Into the Wild, rum and coke with little to no backwash, New York Times, wishing there were SCHIP-veto protests here, sad bartenders and not enough calls back to write my articles.
this weekend: some sort of quasi-meat party, forcing myself to pound kitchen tables, dancingdancingdancing in the nude, ghost busters outfits/maybeevenpainting??, library movies, some sort of zygote of a novel, remember i breathe too so maybe i am normal?
the future: alaska in real life instead of the movies, becoming not a citizen, enfants and picnics combined, growing old and laughter.