Elementals
Last night, Sylvia (an ex-gf of mine) with her match-stick wrists snuck in, and wrote ‘pooter’ on the wall. I am confused by this. The whole situation—the word, her method of writing it, her intended method of my discovery—would connote playfulness. She was not a playful one.
When I consulted the slice-of-pizza (Carter uses this as an oracle), it revealed she meant to say, “I don’t want to be with no pooter.” I assume this to be hurtful in intent, but I just don’t know for sure.
I can only deduce that ‘pooter’, is some combination of ‘poot’—a very dainty, and discrete fart—and ‘cooter’—which is either a North American water turtle, or a playfull and slang word for the female gonads. She, no doubt, meant the later. Pooter, I realize, also has some coloquial usage meaning self important and mundane. That may be the most cutting of her possible implications, though I doubt she was even aware of its existence.
In the end, I am not hurt; but fearful. Fearful that Sylvia with her otter waist and her ace of heart fingers, knows a knowledge deeper, more abundant and aware then my own. A knowldege I’ll never know, and not know where to find. One I couldn’t grasp if I drank it.
The sandwiches are working out, Elliot suggested some modifications to the recipe. Coffee above average; though I’m approaching leery of the milk.
