Yesterday I was finishing off the emotional downward swing I had started a few days before. (The fortune cookie didn’t help.) To make things better, my roommate and I played tennis, though the unfeeling light of autumn mid-day coupled with the clear, seasonal cold didn’t seem to help anything. So I went back inside to mope. My dad and I have weekly plans to swim. We drove to the pool only to find that there had been some horrible, mechanical malfunction which had us dry for at least yesterday. Not to be stymied by external factors, the three of us—yes, we coaxed DJ into a run; we met on the cross-country team, you know—went for a short jog around the neighborhood. The air burnt my lungs. The run strained my back. Dissatisfied with the length of the run, DJ and I tried out tennis once more. This time we were nearer to dusk, the light was somehow warmer, though the air temperature was not. Someone on the street over had started a fire to dispose of his leaves. It filled the courts with the light scent of smoke, which complemented the New England scene provided by the trees which hang over our courts.

Even with all the athletic-related endorphins floating around, I was still in a funk. For a few months, I’ve planned on purchasing a Japanese bloodgood red maple tree. (People who have plants live longer—and we can’t have pets in our apartment, otherwise I’d get a beagle; plus I like plants because they aren’t as transient as some other, frivilous buys.) Home Depot regularly sells them to the tune of ninety-nine dollars. I’ve been holding out for the season clearance. Last night, I figured, it was time to get me my tree. While we were there, I picked up a large pot for my basil plant. It’s doing well, but I think its small, original container must be stifling its growth. Its care-guide suggests re-potting. What better time to pick one up then last night? And so, DJ and I spent our Saturday night rummaging through the plant section of Home Depot for a small tree and an even smaller pot. To take the maple home, we had to pop-off the passenger-side T-top from DJ’s Camero. The tree stuck out and above. Truly, it was a sight to see. The car makes an excellent planter. DJ was careful not to go too fast on the way back. The little guy rustled in the wind, but high speeds could’ve easily snapped the poor thing in two. Rest assured, the tree is fine. In fact, he’s peering at me from across the kitchen table even now as I type.

We dropped the plant materials at home before trekking out to Best Buy for season one of Pinky and the Brain and some alcohol. Last week Liz and Heidi went to local wineries for tastings. They brought back some wonderful cranberry wine. DJ was hooked and last night sought out more. I found myself a Young’s double chocolate stout, a Sam Smith oatmeal stout, and a 4-pack of Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA. By this time, though, we were hungry, not thirsty.

I cooked up a sauce with the two tomatoes on the vine we had left and some basil from my plant, which I have yet to re-pot, some small cheese ravioli, and three Italian sausages, all of which DJ ate. We popped in Pinky and the Brain. I opened the Young’s chocolate stout. Somewhere between 1.5 and 2 DVDs later, I had fallen asleep on the love seat in the living room. I suspect it didn’t help my lower back.

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