The weather must be the number one variable deciding whether I am happy or sad. It must be. With sun, anything seems possible. With gray overhead, despair creeps through the caulking.
The sky remained gray, and a cold misty day permeated. I stepped on Kristin's feelings, and it made more difficulty than anything is ever worth. Arguments at these times are pointless. There is nothing to be resolved, because everything is almost exactly perfect. Further, discontent is a predictable ingredient in everybody's life, and I think it should be ignored and abhorred if the fundamentals are tidy and in place. You can assume my foot is in my mouth and I'm kicking my own teeth. Let me smolder of my own accord, and by the time I get back from the library, the fire will be out.
By the time I returned from the library, the sun had set, and the misty day was in the past. Toward evening we all convened at George's. I suspect George is calm and well mannered at all times. I can't picture him raising a voice or a hand. He sits on a low pedestal; a humble archetype. Future humans should take notes, and everything will be okay.
I think highly of him.
In every square foot of living space, I see something that demands an answer. For example, I have twenty six questions about the sliding doors. I understand the inline skate wheels, but why isn't there a track on the floor? You don't need one? How did you know that? And the angle iron up top is enough to keep it all in place? How the F did you know that?
The house is better than anything I've seen on the TinyHouseBlog. If HGTV finds out, they're going to offer him a show.
Above everything, and most important, I'm relieved to have George's number. He's a friend, resource, and inspiration. I love his boyfriend, who reminds me a little bit of myself at 26, and a lot of Kristin circa now. We have strangely symmetrical relationships, in fact. Bizarrely. I peppered George with too few questions and talked on about bicycles while Kristin chatted up Matt about acrylic nails and/or app games or some such nonsense.
I had a lovely evening, and another fine night in the four-cylinder Automate Stepvan which I researched immediately upon entering the library. (It's the ultimate vehicle. How did he do that?)