I listen for your footsteps

Lindsey's visit was short but superb (dig in her britches for details, pictures, and pictures of details). I hope her view of the glooooorious Hamptons has blossomed from two Octobers ago, before the noise, before the funk. We're shifting from hyper young college students to studious old friends, so the crunkulation combobulator took us from giggling and clucking to resting and sleeping a little quicker than last time. Ah, growing up. There are so many things I wanted to show her but didn't get the chance due to lack of daylight and energy. However, she experienced Queens and Craig's impressive portfolio, the deer penis, the roundabouts of Riverhead, the Lob Inn, Maevis's seduction dance, the hanging/standing wooden man, the Montauk lighthouse, and the maps. God, the maps. I hope she had as lovely a time as I did.

She left this morning and now I'm back to doing laundry and basting diluted battery acid from my trunk into the Target parking lot under the cover of darkness. See what life without a Lindsey is like? Everyone take note -- old car batteries are to be stored upright and then promptly discarded, not thrown willy nilly in the back for upwards of three months.

The next two weeks are jam-packed with excitement. I've got a paper to write, a thesis to propel, shifts to work, and a lover to snuggle, all before I meet Courtney in Ireland for a six-day backpacking tour. Yes.