So what?
I just broke the first piece of kitsch I inherited from my mother, a porcelain soup terrine. They had it at their house in Cold Spring, NY. That is, this porcelain soup terrien that my mother and father had and then got left with my mother when he did (leave) and which I have inherited subsiquent to the death of my aforementioned (since remarried) mother, I chipped. I chipped it. I chipped the damn soup terrine (I keep mispelling it with Michael’s name) with its blue rim, chipped. I was using it to keep cannabis in (I don’t know whether it’s trashy or resourceful, frankly. For God’s sake I inherited a preposterous quantity of stuff that is of sentimental value to me) and I dropped the lid while wrestling with the jar I keep it in. Lesson learned: I need to get better at observing the space around me; the space around me is a cluttered mess.
What are antiques for? I have so many of them, and I like to use them. I have a charming set of three nesting colorful ashtrays I’ve been using; they sit in a little silver stand on the dining room table. I guess what I mean to say is that I’ve been smoking again.
Xerxes is back. He’s been cuddly — very cuddly. He keeps trying to massage my crotch, and I have to roll him off. Generally, though, he’s been adjusting well, and for the most part totally chill. Just sometimes he gets a little too affectionate.