Gmorning. How are you? I am achy.
Yesterday afternoon at Tower Bridge was great. I held up my half of a banner that said there's no flag big enough to cover the shame of torturing people. I handed out some postcards about closing Guantanamo to passersby. I was brave.
"What that mean?" someone asked.
Our friend B tried to explain that torturing people is wrong, and flag waving doesn't make it okay.
"Shit, I was in Vietnam," the man said and walked away.
Then I was brave again at the five dollar vegan party where we ate a dinnerlet of Ethiopian food, which was delicious and salty, and talked a little bit to people we know and met someone we didn't. She was a very nice high school English teacher, and I wanted to talk to her about books, but Ming pulled us away.
Not that I actually read anymore. I've been reading Never In a Hurry
for half a year. I check out things from the library and return them. Where has my concentration gone? Why is it a hundred times easier to write than to read? Reading books feels like such a commitment. I read the internet and zines sometimes. There is hope for me.
Today we march against Monsanto with thousands and thousands of people. We're going to take light rail so we don't have to worry about parking.
I'm going to make some buckwheat groats though I have never had them and don't know what condiments to use. We picked them up at the Davis co-op yesterday.
I dreamt of holding hands with a friend, singing, and a necklace that looked like mine. I hope you had such good dreams, Reader.