it begins. today I begin my letter-writing project, an attempt to do something quantifiable for number eighteen, as well as an attempt to reach out to others, and also to maybe get mail in my mailbox. I'm writing one letter a day for every day in April. though I want them to be something beyond conversational, I'm trying not to get too picky. today's letter is to my greatest pen pal ever; m & I have been writing each other letters since we were sophomores in college. I often joke that when we are dead, biographers will find out about us through our musings to one another, penned sometimes on homemade paper (her) and sent in whimsical handmade envelopes (us both). this fantasy of course riding entirely on the assumption that both of us will have died famous artists of one medium or another. which, of course, is completely plausible.
an aside: just remembered a dream I had last night whereupon some friends of mine lived in an old repurposed Walmart building. it was pretty awesome?
so there's April. no jokes were played on me today. I had a lousy day at work but ended by coming home and playing video games with Cristina; as the evening devolved we found ourselves having impromptu craft night (her: sewing a sock monster; me: knitting a blanket) and watching back episodes of South Park. sometimes it doesn't take much. now: wine, dirty dishes, headache, stomachache, and up past my bedtime as usual. crankiness has not subsided. some days you just can't escape it. running would have helped.