Eight months and boy am I…

This was a test because apparently I’ve neglected this site long enough that the rules had changed and I wasn’t around to notice. But I have intentions today. It’s Sunday morning, by the way, and I have yet to shower, even though I’ve been up since five, which is when I take the canine out so he can pee.

I like going outside before the sun comes up, especially when it’s foggy because, living in a beach city, one can hear fog horns, which kind of make everything worth it. It’s kind of a naive-sounding call and response thing between them, one lower in register than the other, and I imagine ship captains making sense out the difference or non-difference.

It was foggy yesterday, but not today, and yesterday I heard them. My dog likes it when fog horns sound, not because he thinks they’re poetic or that he even hears them, but during such times I tend to linger, and lingering is Duffy’s speciality. Only while in the embrace of a linger can he appreciate in his own time the beauty or allure or the interest of this molecule over that one.

I wear my mask, even at five a.m. People who I’ve known for years often can’t recognize me when I’m wearing my mask, except when I’m with my dog, which is when they recognize me right away.

Why do I think that writing in first person is somehow cheap?

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