My belly is full of the most delicious lamb curry. This is because I biked to my parents' house to plunder Indian cookbooks for something full of vegetables that would make me feel like I had not just wasted my life on illness for the last three days, and when I got there my mama convinced me that I should probably just go to India Gate. I looked at too many recipes and I got overwhelmed and then I started wanting something I don't know how to make, so it was a good decision. I will make my own curry full of green things another day. For now, nothing but red in my tummy. Nom nom nom.

Also while I was at my parents' house, I got asked by the house painters if I was "a painter or a student," and if I wanted to make a little extra cash by helping 'em scrape the sides of the house. Would I ever, but it will have to wait for next week. This week is for tying up loose ends at TLeaves and packing, unpacking, repacking. Cleaning, shifting, cleaning again.

Seventeen years ago was the last time our house was painted. I wished I was a painter, then, and I still kinda do sometimes. Montana taught me that manual labor is my cup of tea, whether or not I'm a natural at it (I'm not). We had these four brothers, Seneca or Tuscarora, who did it for us one sticky-hot summer, and their family became an extension of our own. They were always around and Noah and I were always asking questions about them and of them if we were feeling brave, and bringing them cups of coffee. The oldest one was named Bobby and Noah was two years old and so he called all of them Bobby, and we just called them "the Bobbies." I had a big crush on Guy, who I think was the second to youngest, and when I was supposed to be taking naps I would go to the window of my room and show him all of my toys and tell him stories about my fireplace-ornament-reindeer (Nordcap) and his adventures in Greenland. They never quite finished work on the house, and now at least two of them are dead, and one got a divorce and an alcohol problem and moved back onto the rez, and I don't know what happened to Bobby, the eldest and the namesake. I like these new painters and I like that they asked for my help, but they're no Bobbies.

WLY is cozied up workin on the couch with the smoothest playlist of 60s and 70s soul, and I am cozied up in my bed (as I have been for the past several days), with Studio 60 On the Sunset Strip on "constant stream" and two kitties curled up on my lap. Bliss.

In nine days (!?) I am shipping out, and have about a million phonecalls and decisions to make and, oh yes - really, this moment just calls for some vintage Otis.



Thanks for stickin' around, October. You and your pumpkin ales and your unpredictable chill and your leaves blowing and your Stax echoes and your ghosts (even the mean ones) can be 1/12 of my year anytime. A lot of good people born in this month, too. Happy birthdays Chrissy (today!!!!!), Harrison, Meg, Liz, Sohail, and Letje (and that's just this week)!