This Beer Has Glass Legs

I'm always lightheaded for the first week in Winchester, which has led to my parents' general belief that I am sickly, when in fact I am citified and there is simply too much oxygen here. I haven't been updating much because I'm mostly with Ciro, plus narcolepticcat has been visiting as part of his grand road trip. Plus REL calls at around eleven every day because she gets bored at work, and I am required to entertain her for about an hour, which fills most of the same niche as journaling - I dredge up whatever anecdotes I can think of and then read bits of interesting articles.

When people find out I have a sister, they inevitably ask whether we get along, to which the best answer is that we steal each other's clothes. Some shirts have passed back and forth at least a dozen times, and there is a Chinese robe particularly under contention. When REL is leaving town, I check my suitcase, and her suitcase, and vice versa. Sweeping coups are inevitable when one of us visits the house and the other doesn't. Last week, I found in her drawer a glow-in-the-dark circus t-shirt which has been mine since I was seven - I have photographic evidence.

I discovered this in the process of swiping three other shirts which are decidedly not mine. I have also found (while searching her closet floor for a purse) several jars of coins which I am desperate to roll. I'm not sure what the policy is on coins, particularly following what may be the first discovery of a jewelry theft - but then again, it might be that we coincidentally have identical necklaces, one of which is missing. This is probably the case. We are forever showing up at airports wearing the same thing.

I'm working on several poems and some scripts and two short stories, and reading this book, which I desperately wish was nonfiction. I am willing to believe there was a man named Hieronymous Gratchenfleiss. I think it would be all right. We can make this happen. History is written by the victors.