There are a flurry of stars in my living room. Five batik lap quilts in browns, purples, and blues are ready to be hand bound. John set up my laptop behind the sewing machine to keep me company while I pieced. I rewatched episodes of West Wing which I could enjoy even with my eyes on the eye of the needle.
A couple of times the dialogue included a pair of White House senior staff bantering about a colleague while the latter sat three feet away.
"You know I am sitting here, right?"
I laughed not only because of their situation but in that uneasiness of recognition.
It's not an unheard of scenario in my brain.
Once a woman was walking across campus as I drove by. In the following thirty seconds I participated in an internal monologue in which I predicted where she was going and why, and how I felt about it. I drew conclusions with neat corners based on fabricated assumptions.
"You know that this is my life, right?"
Oh. Yeah.
