We unroll a map of Scotland that hangs off the edges it’s so big, can’t fit on the table. Some coarse navigating between destinations, time tables, circling forests and lochs, places they make Scotch. Late October, Scotland. October leaning into November, bad weather, winds. The Scots.
My friend Andrew pulls it up on his iPad in their kitchen and dillies the map with his finger, a circus trick. Uses broad gestures to yank it right open.
And Erica’s son Casey has a five dollar app he uses to make brickfilms, claymation, three minute movies on his phone. We see their kids once or twice a year and they’re growing so fast, each time it’s like we’re in a different part of their trilogy.
Chris slips on the grass it’s so dry, like hay.
“This goes without saying” is a terrible thing to say before you say something you know you shouldn’t say but you’re going to anyway, like “six years ago I was in much better shape than I am now,” which is true, and doesn’t need to be said.
I took to the hills with relish then and now, I don’t. My chest sags in the way of the slouch. Physicality onstage, physicality off. Ironically, felt today for the first time like I could really go back to work, had an odd thirst for an honest living. Might have been a fluke, I hope.
Went to see a Travel Nurse though I didn’t see the sense in it, but was reminded we weren’t up to date with Hep A/B, and why not throw in a Typhoid? Got stuck in each arm by an apologetic nurse and went back to our days, all four of us. Began composing a blog post for LinkedIn in my mind, my first one: a meeting of my two halves, hope they get along.