tuckova

Dear mustard, I am sorry that I forgot what you gave me was what I want.
A sweet and sour bite, a slap on the tongue, a reminder of other
flavors. I have drowned myself in vinegar and salt when you were what I
wanted. Colonel Mustard, in the kitchen, with the knife.

I am perplexed by my neighborhood. Within a three block radius of the
apartment, there are four food stands (pizza, kebabs, fried cheese), two
flower stores, two pet supply stores and two pet grooming stores, ten
pubs and a wine bar, and three hairdressers. There are no vegetable
stands (six blocks), no clothing stores (five blocks), no drug store
(four blocks), bookstore, school supplies… I'm not saying I have to
walk far for what I want, but isn't it ODD to have so many of one kind
of thing and so few or none of the other.

Despite the presence of three hairdressers, I've had a hell of a streak
of bad luck with haircuts (for a while, this blog was on the front page
for "bad haircut"), and thus have for the last three years taken care of
my hair by clippering it down to about a centimeter every few months.
I'd rather have a bad haircut for free, thanks. The few times I've felt
brave enough to try and make an appointment, they've been willing to see
me in a week, by which time my braveness evaporated and I just went
ahead and cut my hair. But yesterday the planets aligned, I walked in,
they agreed to let me come back within 24 hours, and I got my hair cut.
It was fast and I think it looks good, and she did it to my
specifications (rather than what often happens: they mistake me for
somebody who cares). So yay.

I've been thinking about secrets or maybe privacy, because what is a
secret anyway? Why don't you tell them; why don't I? Why, when taking a
running jump at talking about it, do I find myself unable, tongue-tied
by myself. Do I not say it because I don't want it to be true. Or some
sense of shame, maybe. Or because I don't feel like having the
discussion that I expect will come. It's definitely a fact that I don't
talk about stuff easily or ever till I've made my mind up what I think. I
think about myself as a person who doesn't have secrets, but what I
mean is if I'm going to tell you eventually I generally tell you
straight off, just to get it done. But in inventorying my too-narrow
curtains I've realized that there are things I've told nobody, or few; there are things I cannot say. So that is sort of interesting to me.