my latest conversation with the DLLR began with

"I think this is a clerical error..."

And it was. it's a long story that isn't really worth telling. bureaucracy continues to be absurd. at least the arbiter of my case knew someone in his agency had neglected to do something, thus resulting in his need to telephone me at 10:30 on a Wednesday morning. i'm sure my hero kafka never dreamed the likes of that. or did he?

i am drinking a glass of Educated Guess, a 2006 Napa Valley Cabernet with a vanilla heart and a berry soul.

have not dreamed about michael in many days now, but the idea of him returned to me last night in R.E.M. sleep. It was something sensual and suggestive, I think. right before i went to bed, i followed a link to an audio youtube of recorded telephone conversations of his from 1992. they seemed authentic given the context and the pattern of dialogue. he was talking to a friend and so was completely candid about his desire to love and be loved--to have a real relationship with a woman. in the context of discussing his father, he dropped the *f bomb. that's pretty much where i fall in love if i'm going to.

God help me, but I love it when men say that word in just the right way...