Vigil

So tonight I rook some of my friends into going to the vigil with me: Joan, Becky, and Guido turn up. We're all dressed in slimming black and Guido looks especially dapper with a black silk band on his fedora. The Move On folks who have organized it have their own agenda, which most of us ignore. They want us to gather in a circle and recite the names of the (American) dead, but that would take an hour, and gosh, if we didn't already get that this war has been a ludricrous waste of life and resources, would we be here? Instead, we stay on the curb with our signs. It's more interesting to peer into the cars of passing commuters during rush hour. I've snagged a big showy sign that reads "$4000 a second" and position myself next to a gentleman with a self-made sign that reads, "Won't somebody give Bush a blow job so we can impeach him?" Demonstrating against the war in western Washington really is preaching to the choir: most of the drivers, if they're not on cell phones, give us the thumbs up and honk approvingly.

Afterwards, everyone including Max comes back to my house where I proceed to drink a little too much. Of course this is just an excuse to get a bit maudlin and over-the-top. While devouring pizza as though I were Dead Man Walking and this was my last meal, I start to outline the instructions for my memorial service should I not survive tomorrow's ordeal. Max will be in charge of music, the UW gets first dibs on my cadaver, will Barbara take Buster?, etc. Finally, Max loses patience and points out this is, after all, a hernia. He is the poster boy for cancer survival, for Christ sake. If anyone gets to wax dramatic about their medical issues, it is he.

Everyone stays until almost midnight. I don't want to be alone. I wish we could all crawl into my bed together like a pack of dogs, but they need to go home and I need to get a little shut-eye. My older sister, bless her, will be here at 5:00 am all bright and chipper and keep your pecker up to ferry me to the spa. Thank God I can absolutely rely on her to wake me up (for it is her custom to awaken before the birds to eat oatmeal and read a few verses from the Bible).