Darling, July
31, 2013
Looking at
my little calendar book, I just noticed that across from the date are two
very tiny, rather long integers.* Today is 212/153. 212 days down, 153 to go
this year. What an odd thing to iclude! It seems like a calendar for
someone with an annual goal or someone having such a bad year that they are
willing to believe the year number makes a difference. My birthday is 10 days
away. 375 days till I turn 30. Tick, tock, tick, tock.
*I feel odd
writing that word, integer—but William Styron uses esoteric synonyms for
variety, and it works for him. A suntanned woman has a cupric back, for
example, and Styron/Stingo really exhausted the thesaurus entry for ‘pink,’
since he lives in an apartment building where all the rooms, and furniture,
too, are painted with Navy (?) surplus paint of that color, a hue rejected from
the service due to its poor aptitude for camouflage.
This morning as I walked toward the subway, looking, I’m sure, like a teenager with my backpack, book and unstyled long hair reminiscent
of those days, I passed the man carrying the surf-/ironing- board in its beige-and-black-striped bag!
Back from a nice long weekend of ironing, eh? Lots of people are going to the
beach, today, it seems. I saw a little girl carrying a pink plastic bucket in what they call the bowels of Union Square I happened to be reading a Coney Island scene
at the time.
The rest was good but not worth mentioning, mostly because I am no longer in letter-writing mode. Talk to you soon, my love.
Katie
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