(no subject)

Let me lay this down for you, it'll be a few quick verbal pinches to your ear and then I'll be gathering up the rest of my words, threads, needles and whathaveyouever and trying to see these places.

Well. Maybe not one or two places unless I had a VERY good bike or car. Or magic freaking parkour shoes to run like hell. Bordertown is a lot of things, colorful, dirty, do it yourself, bitter, bright, magic made from old soda cans and runaways.

Probably too old to be counted as a runaway at this point if I did that. I'm getting outside of what I wanted to say and now I'm wasting words, not even striking poetry with them or a rhythym. Probably proof in the pudding I have no magic outside of sewing pretty little patches or pieces.

I want to see the riverside market, work for Tatterstock or go into the Hard Luck Cafe and smell the air inside for what would be my luck that day. Hell, if I could WORK in the Hard Luck Cafe I'd probably be in high-honking heaven too.

...Okay, you're asking me for a parcel more of words now. And I do not blame you fer asking about what I'm going all dreamy eyed about, so I'll lay this as straight as my poor words can stand.

I work with scraps, tatters, bits and pieces and maybe some new skeins of thread and old sewing needles mostly by hand. I've got an old foot-pedal sewing machine in the basement I know how to use fairly well enough that belonged to Grandma Schwa, so maybe I could haul it all there in the footpedal trike with a coupla more wagons. Tatterstock would be like getting to repair and sew my fancy little fingers and stitches to raw salvage ends on reusing old clothes. Taking them in, pushing them out, putting a hem UP, laying down some fancy rosette chains and latticed herringbones... Hell, I'd be able to wear the clothes that I make from goodwill clearance bin shirts, or the jeans I've patched and expanded to heck. ...Probably take those in too, wouldn't eat regularly over there.

As for the Hard Luck Cafe..It has no set menu, outside of the breakfast items. Whatever food is on the menu that day depends on who is doing the cooking and oh my dear pale freakish burning Norweigan ass I want to COOK THERE. I'm probably completely idiotic and waxing overly rhapsodic about the possibility of even getting to be the MAD SCIENTIST COOK ON SHIFT. I know food doesn't appear instantly when you think it, hell, working in a kitchen and for myself in cooking strange delights has shown me that much. (Although in the case of that watermelon mojito sorbet, the time was TOTALLY WORTH EVERY SECOND)

...and there's other possibilities there too. Hell, I'd probably get my face kicked in for trying it, but a little obento cart would be a pipe dream worth chasing in Bordertown wouldn't it? Selling rice balls or packed sandwiches from a cooler. Maybe I'm too old now to be able to runaway to Bordertown as a teenager.

But maybe I'm not too old to get there as an adult.

I'd just have to stay the heeeell out of Dragon's Tooth Hill and Gryphon Park. Pretty as the latter may be, my organs like where they are currently located.

Internally.

AWAKE NOW

SO!

Not ten minutes ago I was asleep in bed and groggily dreaming about talking on the phone with mom as usual for the morning routine.

Right on the dot, at 10 am, mom calls as my usual wake up call. Except she's calling from her cellphone.

She's got a call at 7am this morning.

There's a possible lung transplant in Chicago.

And that's all they know and she's almost there right now.

Hggggnaaaahaaaahaaah.

No need sleepz now kthnx.

Update:

Got call just before I had to run into work for the menu and wine tasting that the lungs were declared non-viable due to defects. So no transplant for Mom, but at least this round Bob was ready for the entire shebang.

Thanks again to all who offered their good thoughts and support.