It looks like rain. Last night I read the short story Coelacanths by Robert Reed. I found it engaging, and was interested enough to seek the book out, lay down and finish it. Although when I did I was disappointed. I *thought* I knew what was going on, but when I reached the end I felt I didn't. Then I had to know what other people thought of it. Did they make sense of it? What did it mean? I went online.

And found that 70 percent of the folks were like me. Indifferent, or thought the story was incomplete. Of course the other camp are people who obviously have liberal art degrees and are pontificating on the meaning of mustard and rocks. (I.e. they can find meaning in anything). This is one of the only times I really wanted to find out what someone else thought and went online to seek that opinion. I guess I could have made Tim read it, but that would have taken too long.

I wrote four pieces of mail. Finished a letter I had started at the beginning of the month to Hollywood Jen, wrote a post card to Gale saying I would write soon, a handwritten letter to Myrna, and one other thing. We got a postcard from John! He had decided to go to Wyoming because everyone else was busy, and he actually said "fuck it" on the postcard!!!

I commented to Tim "He didn't need to put two stamps on it." Feeling a little like I know something about it, with all my postal business and all.
"Uh," Tim replied. "I think he would know."

I took a breath to argue, and realized....damn. He would know. He is a postman for chrissake. I haven't been shut down in a potential argument in so long. Five words was all it took.