Meanwhile considering how the deer was already dead before we hit it, and gray scale of the sky today.

I really could've titled this blog, "Looking at this weekend and wishing it were last weekend" as well.

The farmer's market was one of a kind. However, they weren't selling mangled venison. Instead, there were gourds enough to go around Madison's capitol building. It had squeaky-cheddar cheese, kale, rhubarb, and children dressed as pirates with eye patches shaped like large donuts on their small faces.

The Madison didn't feel that far from home, but sleeping in my bed as opposed to on an air mattress with J made me miss the company of the weekend. That old stench of familiarity that, when packing my dirty clothes in my duffel bag, the odor of cigarettes climbs inside me and I remember how we always wanted to be drunk, but would complain about how we couldn't get there. If there's one thing to be said about the Madison, the curry parkway, biscuits and gravy of familiarity, the heavy iPoding, the eating dinner with the most suitable company possible and chasing it with far too much home brew and wine, the trivial pursuit, or the pensive dog--I'll just leave it at "Books are gay." It seems the simplest way to describe the jaunt of the weekend.

*I didn't just unpack today, or finally wash my clothes today. Rather, I'd written half of this and decided to wait. It happens like this sometimes, but I don't think it's any less relevant or any less sincere. The weeks fly by--I can say that much.

Also, I'll change the background color by the next blog.