pears and freedom are delicious

    Dear Harriet Walter,

    Two things.

    One, sometimes it is necessary to eat at pear at midnight because sometimes midnight may be the hour of that pear's perfected ripeness, the fleeting peak between crunch and squish. As if one bought a rock at the supermarket and kept it in a basket in the kitchen for days, and one carefully watched over it until at last, late one night, a light came from it and it magically hatched into one's own true love (who could never have possibly fit inside it but hey magic). And one's own true love said, "My darling, you and I must spend this hour together and you must end me at the close of it, or else I shall turn into a slimy frog and die within a few days, rotting before your eyes, never having loved. You would not do that to me." So of course one would spend the hour together with one's own love, sitting on the carpet, holding hands and resting against each other and gazing at the lights on the Christmas tree, dreaming up hopes not subject to reason, before the time ended and one ate him and devoured his flesh right down to the bones, delicately wiped one's lips with a napkin and tossed his spine into the compost bin, silently thanking him for the time spent together. Isn't it the better way?

     Two, I was thinking about catching up on a television show I hadn't watched since I went to college but then I thought "no of course I can't I don't have time" then I remembered that I'm on vacation and have absolutely no homework to do and no classes to go to
    HA