Beer in the Afternoon

I avoided the blessing but showed up for the barbecue, and that was actually loads o’ fun. Since I’ve been a member of the collective for three years now, I get to hear all the gossip—who hates who, who got busted for screwing in the garden (uncomfortable, I would think!), evil Joe who tried to turn the garden into a commercial sunchoke empire, and poor Marge who went off her meds, decompensated completely and is now wandering the streets of Poughkeepsie, homeless.

“That is very sad,” I said. “I liked her. She had a kind of fierce purity about her, you know?”

“I tried to reach out to her,” Deborah said, shrugging. “I thought maybe I could fix her up with some housing”—Deborah works for the local low-income housing coalition—“help her get some services, you know? But it’s hard to get in touch with homeless people.”

I drank a couple of beers, which was a big mistake because after, all I wanted to do was sleep.

Consequently, I got absolutely no work done.

In the evening, I heard from my dear friend C.T. Which was good because she is so depressed that she’s been slashing and burning a lot of her social contacts, and I really didn’t want her to slash and burn me.

Today, I really must work.