Sweet Dreams and Flying Machines In Pieces On The Ground
Entry 1 1:18 a.m. Her breathing is shallow and rapid. She is so sick. Jane, Kim and I spent the night talking, with me regaling them with fond remembrances of Jenny. I have so many. When we moved in together in a small apartment, we lived near Larry's Market on Aurora. We would get romaine lettuce and Larry's fresh Caeser dressing, eat the salad together and watch Seinfeld and Jeopardy sitting next to one another. It's in that same apartment where I used to have Jenny in tears of laughter enacting terrible shadow puppet plays at night as we lay together in our king-sized bed. We were happy, our frontiers unmapped, unseen, unknown, unmeasured and unexplored. I want to wrap my arms around her and suck all of her sickness into my breast. I want to travel the world with her again, to have her laugh at me as I am inadvertently hitting Ticos on the head while I am trying to heft my backpack into the rear of a bus bound for Arenal. I want to relive walking the 4 miles to the...