That shit is weird about the woman sleeping with the Nazi
dog. I can imagine the headline, as I didn't actually read
the paper yesterday, or the day or week or month previous,
that says, "Woman dates Nazi dog." That's weird.
Yeah, everything else is weird these days, too, and I think
I'm coming down with the fever. You know. It's going around.
Yeah, I should get back to work, though, because I do so little
around here anyway and I think I'm degenerating. However,
we finally got the 80s station, and it makes degeneration
fun. Music makes everything fun. With that, I go. Adieu.
I'm on the rag.
Everything amazes me right now. I can't talk long, but I'll
give you a rundown of the things in my head. You. Virginity.
Gone. The phrase, "On the rag." Funny. Condoms.
Queasy feeling in stomach, spreading to throat. Little feverish.
Rain. Sleep depravation. Becoming human. The word, "Yikes."
Green tea with honey. 80s music. The theme song from Beverly
Hills Cop. The feeling someday somebody will say to me, "Oh.
You and your bodily fluids." You. What friends in high
school referred to as "Fuck hair." The phrase, "On
the rag," again. Words. Re-appropriation. Funny. The
ferry. Virginia Woolf. Books. Bookstores. Work. What work?
The number 39 bus. Vancouver. You. Morning after pills. Birth-control
pills. Multivitamins. Parenthood. "Oh my God. Parenthood."
Fate. Free will. Consequence. Existentialism. The phrase,
"Stranger things have happened." The theme from
Beverly Hills Cop, again. Eighties music. Condoms. Tea. Honey.
Nakedness. Honey and nakedness together. Skin. Yours, good.
Mine, bad. Work. What work? Oh, right. I have to go. I will
call you when I get back tomorrow, probably early evening.
I am come safe into my new country. Womanhood.
Craig Battle is
leading the renaissance in newspaper reporting.