appropriateness suckas
You know Fall is ready to bloom when you begin to smell the sweet aromas of maple syryp in the evening air. Although, I have some debilitated olfactory senses to begin with and often smell maple syrup in the strangest places - under the I-81 bridge on my Blacksburg-East rides; in Engel Hall Room 223; in my living room right this very moment - so, perhaps, the maple syrup sensation is a default my nostrils rely on. All the same, Fall is around the corner. I’m here and waiting. Come and get me.
There is a large fly in the house. I used to be able to get along with flying insects, but moving into this house gave me a sense of propriety, a Victorian propriety that suggests flies are for the rabble and teenage shepherds. Not for higher society. Not for 509 Progress St. But, I can’t bring myself to squash this huge fly. It moves about sporadically and rests in remarkable stasis when it finds a suitable surface. It’s large enough that it is likely on its last breath. I also don’t have the energy to get up and swat at it; I’m too busy smelling wonderful maple syrup.
Everything smells like syrup. It’s making me very tired. This is my Oz moment.