It’s Monday night.
I’m eating slightly underripe peaches and drinking whiskey from the bottle while I answer emails in bed. I had a 3.5 hour long Planning Board meeting tonight that included our Town Engineer saying “Lagusta, you brought up a lot of good points there.”
SQUEE. I’m getting the hang of planning, oh yes I am. Devoting hours a week to reading tomes with fun titles like “Land Use and SEQRA Basics” is helping.
Oh, I put all the chicken blogs back online, too. All these people kept coming up to me at the shop/on the street/at Town Hall/on Facebook saying a variation of “Damn grrrrl, you go with those chickens! It’s ludicrous, the whole idea!! Thanks for speaking up!”
Am I annoyed that those people are not leaving comments and otherwise speaking up? Yes, yes I am.
But, you know, not everyone has balls like Lagusta Pauline Yearwood has balls.
Ovaries, whatever we’re supposed to say these days.
Anyway, I want to get off the computer and get back to my bedside reading, which for the past two days has not been a fact sheet on PILOT (Payment in Lieu of Taxes, yo!!!) programs, but instead has been a nice reread of Gertrude Stein’s “Lifting Belly.”
You don’t really read Stein, though, of course, you just sort of feel around inside her. You have to forget what words mean and just knock around in the dark for where on your body they affect you.
(I can only find tiny excerpts online. This seems some sort of amazing crime to me right now, exhausted, whiskeyed up, in awe of Gertrude all over again. Really, the whole thing isn’t online anywhere? Or anywhere I could find in the two minutes I allotted to the task?)