prematurely grey

My intention was to write up what the day was like each night when I got back to my cousin John’s. But a combination of exhaustion, not knowing the password the first night, and my oldest addiction rearing its delicious head (who wouldn’t rather read than write?) made firing this thing back up feel too hard.

But Tech Support Guy didn’t give me a metaphoric facelift for nothing. And the other Chris H. in my life even got me cards that say Prematurely Grey and give the address of the dead blog. In a series of suspiciously self-confident moves, I have actually been giving people these cards. More on that later.

Just want to set the scene: I am in a coffee shop a block from my cousin’s. It’s a little limesicle for this fantastic industrial/post-industrial neighborhood, but at this very moment, “Touch” just finished on the KLBJ-esque station blaring. I’m the only person here and I’m drinking coffee. (My cousin John is most excellent but his one fault is that he doesn’t drink coffee. Hence the limesicle spot.)

OK, the words “coffee shop” are misleading. If a New Yorker walked into this place, the words “coffee shop” would never cross her mind. Shit, I’m slipping.

Today, in another move of technologic bravado,  I’m going to post to PG from my Blackberry. (Unless Al Gore finally comes to his senses and takes me away to become the slacker wife he always dreamed of.)

More in a bit.