Hello to all butterflies flitting through gardens, worms squiggling through the dirt, and cats digging at linoleum floors.
You may have noticed there’s been a long gap between the last blog and this one. I apologize sincerely, but you must know that I don’t take any responsibility for: anxiety attacks due to no new blog entries, costs for psychologist sessions, sudden battles and pneumonia due to wandering around Canada trying to find my house and throw things at my window and scream, ‘YOU TERRIBLE PERSON, WE NEEEEEED A NEW BLOG ENTRY!’
Well, no more worries, Blog-Reader. Everything’s fine now. (Except for the two people in Japan trying to kill each other because they haven’t read a new blog entry in a couple weeks. They might not be fine.)
Anyway, where I live, there’s lots and lots of places to bike. For the last two weeks or so I’ve been in a mad frenzy of bike riding– this year, I’ve absolutely hopped on the bike-riding wagon, and I refuse to stop now. I’ve biked all the way to the south, where the bike path winds along the river and there’s lots of trees to sit in and read; I’ve gone up to the lochs and leaned over the railing and thought, ‘My, I surely do not want to fall in there.’ I’ve biked into the arboretum with all the pretty trees and the ponds, and once I went quite a ways east to my grandparents’ house just to see if I could. I could, but it turns out it’s uncomfortable to walk into Starbucks with your hair all frizzed and sweaty and your earbud dangling out of one ear and your face flushed from the heat just to ask for a glass of water like a homeless person and have a lady look at you like you really shouldn’t be here.
Anyhow. There’s something I really like about biking. You can avoid nearly everyone if you go fast enough, and the distance you can cover is amazing if you know where you’re going– which I never do. The other day I ended up on the wrong side of the canal and I was almost going to be late for my English tutor (oh, NO, THAT WOULD BE THE END OF THE WORLD) but I managed to get back okay. Today I biked around to my usual places, over the bridge, down the canal, around the neighborhood. I stopped by Yaghi’s Mini Mart, a convenience store a few blocks from my house where the one lady always smiles and says how tall and pretty I am, and there’s a cat I’ve named Muffintop for some obscure reason, and he likes to munch on grass while I rub his tummy. I went on the swings at the park for a bit, mainly just so I could get really high and then jump off; I biked down the pathway opposite the arboretum across the water and raced a girl on roller-skates– unbeknownst to her. I saw a Jewish couple having a picnic in the park, and wanted to take a picture of them, but thought that might be a little impolite. It might be insensitive, but I like their little hats.
Now I’m home and sitting in the basement hoping that my English tutor won’t show up. Fine, I like her, but she talks kind of vaguely and, as much as I do enjoy Shakespeare, I don’t want to marry him like she does. Or at least I assume. Maybe that’s mean– but all right, she’s quite nice. I also do a great impression of her.
In other news, it’s finally warm and pretty in Onceabasementdogville. Yes– that’s what it’s called. The street is all green and the guy who takes care of the property, Julio, was pulling around a leaf-blower for three hours this morning. Jeez, Julio, how many leaves and bits of grass could there possibly be around here? I think he was mowing the lawns just so he could clear off more grass bits.
It’s probably time to go, since my English tutor should’ve shown up six minutes ago. I always hope she won’t come, and just when I’m sure she won’t, she does. It’s maddening, Blog-Reader– just maddening.
Anyway, enjoy your blue-skied spring, Blog-Reader. Until next time, I am yours never insincerely but only sometimes sincerely, Onceabasementdog.