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Lately I’ve been obsessed with music. I’m checking out CDs from the library, listening to podcasts about music and keeping track of things I want to listen to. Expanding my collection back from before my time forward through until the present. Admittedly, my musical interests have been pretty sparse these past…oh…20 years or so.

Having just rearranged my music collection, I am now slowly adding selective music to my playlists on Google Music and iTunes – depending on the device. Sprinkling in new things with old because a spoonful of nostalgia makes the modern alternative rock and roll band go down?

Speaking of nostalgia, I’m tempted to say I’m having a rough time with the zine, but the reality is I’m just doing the zine at my very special pace. The last issue seemed to come together really quickly. This issue is taking its time. And why shouldn’t it? Those years I lived in Chicago were among the most formative years of my life. I’m not even sure if I have the wisdom yet to parse together why I should have and did/didn’t learn from them. I know the main character of the story, as its told through my perspective. But how to describe me accurately and honestly? I was not perfect, but the thing is, I think I tried really hard to BE perfect. I wanted so badly to avoid the mistakes of my role models that I think I might have missed out on some fun things that I could have done. And, yet…*spoiler alert*…I’m boringly satisfied with my life. It’s difficult to write a story when you know the ending is sort of a cliche. “Young, suburban punk grows up and becomes a mom.” or “Dreamy writer chick grows up and becomes semi-jaded” or – most frightening of all – “Maybe teenage me was right all along.”

I’m just not sure what angle to take. But I guess I’ll figure it out. And, anyway – I’m in no hurry to finish the alphabet. I can sit at “C” for a good long while and not feel pressed.

If I think about it – about me at that time…what I am is somewhat removed from my surroundings. I wasn’t in a band, but I knew people who were. I didn’t get addicted to or OD on heroin, but I was close with people who did. I didn’t commit suicide. I survived. And I’m ok.

Mostly I just spent my time writing a lot of letters, anyway. Writing letters and laying out zines.

I’m having an existential crisis over the letter “c.”

In other news…Lulu news…things were a little rough last week with all of the rain and the overtime and the general cooped-uppedness. But I managed to get out to the dog park twice in the last two days. Today, we met a couple of energetic puppies that wore Lulu out. At one point, Lulu was playing with a dog on the edge of a cliff, and I felt like I was watching one of those westerns where everybody ends up in a gun battle on the top of a moving train. It’s like The Tao of Bird all over again. TOB used to like to run up to the edges of things – fast enough to where I didn’t know if he would maybe not be able to stop himself and perhaps might plunge over the edge.

So the other dog owners and I kept coaxing the dogs down off of the cliff to play, but they kept ending up back there until finally it seemed like Lulu was exhausted. She was actually doing that “Enough with you!” kind of grouchy bark at the other dogs that I’m familiar with other dogs giving to her when she’s overly-energetic and not reading cues to tone it down. Tone it down. Town it (the FUCK) down.

So we moved on, thankfully still intact. And walked a ways further before coming across rabbit dog. Rabbit dog was the perfect chase companion – darting in between trees like a rabbit to Lulu’s greyhound tendencies. The little dog was about an eighth of Lulu’s size, and still she kept up, mostly, and weaved through the underbrush with a thunderous grace.

It was nice, and it was exhausting, and she’s pretty much spent the rest of the day sleeping.

And, now that I type that…I think I’d like to spend the rest of the night sleeping…

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