I’m beginning to wonder if I really did go to SXSW, if I actually met all those people, gave out all those t-shirts. Everything’s back to normal today–girls woke up in their own beds, were fed by their own parents, went to their school. I medaled in the grocery store biathlon, hitting both the Old People’s HEB and Central Market in less than two hours. Homework was done, dinner eaten, but the stupor lingers. I have the tail of a cold, so it makes it all more dreamy, like my ears are underwater and I can barely hear what’s going on outside the tub.
I wrote a list of things (seven, of course) that I wanted to write in this ugly blog about SXSW. Then the eighth, perhaps most meaningful to me personally, happened, and a day or two later, the ninth thing. It feels like catching up on Song of the Day. But that was worth it, in the end, so maybe this will be too.
Nine is another good number, nearly as good as seven and almost better, when you think about it. Nine shorts posts about SXSW. Sounds good. Even in this ugly blog.
Post a Comment