n'est pas

Conversation between two women sharing my most recent elevator ride:
"It's cold outside."
"Not nearly as cold as it was yesterday."
"Man, it was cold yesterday!"
"Oh, I know. I'm glad it's not that cold today."
"Tell me about it. Yesterday was just too cold."
Note to self: message Mamet about possible run-for-his-money dialogue.

Oh well what now. Massive barrage of work is at a temporary standstill until everything is presented to the client tomorrow morning. I am hiding and typing and hoping no wayward traffic person wanders in here looking for headline revisions. Every now and then I add a sentence or maybe two sentences to the letter I began writing last night- it is for my bestfriendbffstyle sara jane, who lives in Seattle and does not have a computer, so my letter must snail-it clear across the country, then vice-versa, and so far so clear because she moved away three years ago and packages/postcards/somethingelseses are still being sent and still being recieved. Sometimes lack of email/ichat is nothing short of beautiful. I am on page seven of the letter- no end in sight. Our phone conversations are so sporatic that every time I have a new boy to go on and on about, silly it's all just so silly and she has been with the same one for awhile now and it's beautiful, like I said, beautiful. This is what it is like when your best friend is four time zones behind you and doesn't have the technology to catch you on the side and say hey remember when...
But hey remember when?

Last night I finally wrapped my mother's birthday present, a present which I spent hours picking out on december 31st for her january first birthday. I phoned her greetings in, and the present would be late of course- the discreet charm of my bougeouisie is complete disregard for timing. And even though my mother is very much used to this, I highly doubt she would have guessed it arriving closer to february first than the aforementioned birth-date.
I am happy to note that events as of late have actually made for some decent conversations between my mother and I, her advice for life-prioritization and handing each level thereof was suprisingly good (until she added on that insane bit about age difference, oh there's the mother we all know and love!). And apparently all it takes on my end is to be, during any given conversation, in the process of eating a vegetable.