Straight No Chaser

Perfectionism

when i play hearts against michele and pauline and ben, i am an incredibly bad sport; i will only stay at the table for as long as i have a score of zero. the second i earn a single point, even if everyone else's scores are in the nineties, i get frustrated and quit, like a child, and then usually start over.

springtime here is an exaggerated woodsy green, and it smells like a wet frog. people start spending more time outside, naturally. everyone turns a deeper shade of brown, naturally. it's hard to walk anywhere, because everybody's out, and the ground is covered with discarded flyers and burnt roaches. different ivies, including the poisonous kind, get all tangled up in the aluminum fences, which i think looks gross. and there is always the faint suggestion, if not the noisy thunder, of a really heavy bassline on the air. always. it's noise pollution.

everyone says maryland isn't a southern state, but i beg to differ, because we licked honeysuckles, growing up. i seriously doubt anyone in boston would know what to do with a honeysuckle flower, should one ever sprout amid the cold-weather flora. pinch off the green tip, duh, get hold of the thickest white thread and pull, till the nectar beads at the opening. lick. and then also, springtime at home is quieter, less aggressive, because old suburban people aren't perpetually in search of the next cookout, and they don't like a whole lot of crunk. the loudest noises i remember were the lawnmowers, always at least one of them going, at any given time, and then the whippoorwills (i think that's what they were), and then, maybe, some training wheels rattling against driveway asphalt. cul-de-sac noises.

the babysitter who taught us about honeysuckles, my dad had to fire her the next week, because she had subsequently taught us about mulberries, and my brother got sick. we were six and three, which are difficult ages. six-year-olds tattle intentionally because it produces an irresistible reaction, and three-year-olds tattle accidentally because their stomachs are too weak to keep from blorping up the day's secrets. and truthfully, chad didn't stop eating mulberries after deni got fired; he kept up the habit through elementary school and the summers between, probably taught his friends which ones to eat and which not to, and never barfed again.

anyway, i had a worse problem, because honeysuckle flowers generally grow in big bushes of poison ivy, and i was (am) very allergic. i got burned every year, had to go on several rounds of steroids to get rid of the rashes (which never scarred, thank god, except for a tiny bit by my left elbow). i guess we were country children trapped in suburban lives, hence the violent physical reactions. inner conflict and such. but anyway, springtime was better there, always. it was cooler and drier and the sky was pink more often than that outrageous blue, and nobody made us listen to three six mafia unless we just insatiably wanted to.

walking to the library yesterday, i noticed the honeysuckle scent first, and then spotted them--mostly orange, the sweeter ones--clinging to one of those gross ivied fences by a wireless tower. i was, yes, very excited, because i rarely see or do anything, here, that reminds me of familiar things at home, and when i do, it is thrilling. i took one, i fixed it. not much nectar. very nasty burst of pollen, instead. blech.

i'm convinced pauline is cheating, because thirty minutes and four games later, i still haven't won. which i guess is subtle indication that i should be working, instead. so, that. one more entry first.