No one knows me better than you

Hot Knives, Tim Barber

Coffee and donuts. No wait. More like cherries and peaches. More like, more like, chocolate. And tea. Fancy tea. The kind where the leaves unfurl like fists. Baby fists. The kind in the see-through tea pots. They kind they sell at upscale markets.

The kind I don't have.

That's what today feels like. Special and not special at the same time. But right. Just right. And me. It feels like me. Which is a good feeling. It means human. It means normal. It means I can feel excited and antsy and angry and sad and bored. And I promise I won't blame anyone else for it.

Tomorrow I hang out with the fifteen year-old. The one I made a film about.

Weird.

To quote Miranda July for no other reason than I just read her book and, whom, if you know me, know is both my hero and my nemesis:

I look forward to seeing you next week if you live in LA, SF, Portland or Seattle.
It will be terrific, I will bow when I see you, you will bow when you see me, we will bump heads and knock each other unconscious and when we come to we won’t remember anything, we will mumble pardon me and shuffle off in to brand new lives. I really can not wait.