Monday, September 28, 2009

I am lying exhausted on the couch after 5 hours of grape jelly madness. I went through 20 pounds of sugar *ping*, all my jars, even the quart jars and I still have some juice left which I am going to drink. Freshly made grape juice is delicious. I feel health coursing through my circulatory system as I lie here. This grape juice is pinkish yellow and tart. And sparkling with grape properties like smartness and ancient healing chants (ahooya, ahooya) and the like. It's the blue-green algae of fruit. No wonder they make wine out of it. I am now a magical pixie fairy dust-y person with phosphorescent skin flakes. All because of grape juice. 

My counters are covered with 53 jars, all sizes. I had to hose down the floor afterwards. 

My group, "A Murder of Prose", is reading this Friday. I'm going to dress like a grape and pass around the new jelly. Maybe no one with notice that I'm not reading anything. 

I bought Charles Simic's last book of poetry. It sucks. (I blaspheme and I'll probably go straight to hell where someone reads "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" over and over). 

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