"There are trees in the desert since you moved out."

It's queer, this world we live in. Yesterday, out of the wild blue yonder, I found out I was getting the amount of money I felt was appropriate for the work I did on the new mural at school. A amount equivalent to 2 weeks of my normal salary. I didn't have to ask, or defend my stance. It just happened that what I felt I was owed and what they felt I was owed were one and the same. Nice that. Yesterday was not all about the art though.

I got home to find my lights out. "Strange." I thought to myself, maybe even out loud. "I didn't realize the afternoon electrical storm was all that severe" I walked out my patio door, out the garden gate and down to the gate that would admit me to the internal corridors that my only moderately charming apartment building contains. Before I even had time to reach for the knob I saw that the lights were, in fact, on in my wing of the cavernous corridor. "Fuck. Not again." I muttered, in a disgusted with myself sort of way. Now, the funny thing is that I had the distinct memory of paying the bastards at the electric company during my road trip up to Albuquerque at the end of June. (Mmmm�. Yummy, yummy Sheriff/Mr. Clean type fellow just walked in the coffee house. Distraction! He has Bruce Willis eyes, heavy brows, and a heavy, low-slung jaw. I could start a conversation with him about his firearm (hehmmm), but what's the point, really? Oh yes, it's all about the loyalty to Habibi. I've never been able to identify 'my type' but now and again I see a man that just thrills me to no end to behold. It's strange, I've never dated anyone whose looks give me goose flesh. They end up making my skin prick because of their loyalty, their affection, and the funny little quirks that, perhaps, only I notice. I'm very much the type of person that can find beauty and attraction in most sorts. Habibi, is a very handsome man. Everyone says so. I can see it plainly myself, but it's his many other virtues that make my heart race. I believe I was originally talking of something else or another. Oh yes, my pitifully strange day.) I told the nice sounding man on the other end of the line as much, "Are you sure you don't see a payment in the last week of June." I could hear him rolling his eyes, "No sir, your last payment was received on June the Seventh." I'm still not convinced I didn't make a payment at the end of June. I'm so bad at managing these details of life. I should just hand the process over to them and let the polite sounding bastards draft the money from my account. Oh well.

So my day was rather mundane till the electrons stopped making their migration to my place. I called Habibi after words and he sounded oh so blue. He said he was fine. I didn't believe him. We decided to go workout but it was after six and I've been trying to stop eating any later then the five o'clock hour when possible. I went to go eat my raw veggies and some fish and then went on my way to join him at the gym. I called Corazon, but we kept getting interrupted by Habibi's phone calls, I kept taking them thinking he was trying to coordinate our arrivals at the gym. Each time I heard his voice I became more and more aware that something was dreadfully amiss. Brooding is, however, not a stranger to my Habibi and I really didn't think too much about it. More queerness was soon in store. I arrived at the gym ready to pound myself on the elliptical machine, but alas, in typical Madrigal fashion, I had neglected to toss my tennies into my tote. At this point it became blatantly evident that the best thing for me to have done on this day would have been to just stay curled up in bed. Such convenience was not what the fates had in store, evidently. I went up to see Habibi and admit my airheadedness. His eyes were red, and swollen. He had obviously been crying extremely hard. When I confronted him he insisted that this was not the place to talk about it. I could tell from his distressed demeanor that he was entirely accurate. I told him I'd wait for him to finish and decided to go down to the spa and sauna as I did have my shorts and towel with me. I pondered many possibilities for the cause of his distressed state, it was, admittedly, too long before the obvious dawned on me. He must not have passed his exams to become a doctor here in the U.S. My heart sank. I wanted to run and hold him. When we did talk later it was a total breakdown on both our parts. I didn't want to leave him alone. He insisted that he wanted to be home with his family. I made him promise me that he wouldn't do anything stupid to himself. I couldn't let go, having already having the experience in my life of someone so distraught in their state of being that they decided it was better for all to remove themselves from our world. I knew in my heart that Habibi was a stronger person than that, but still, he was so very upset and rightfully so. I let him go. I slept fretfully wondering if I had done the right thing. It was with much relief that I again heard his sweet, loving voice this morning. What a freekin' day. What does it mean for him? What does it mean for us? What does it mean for me?

I've lost 5 pounds in 3 days. After gaining a staggering 18 pounds this summer and 2 pant sizes, in spite of working out like a fiend, pounding the poor elliptical machines to a pulp with no downward impact on my waistline. I determined it was time to either seek assistance from my doctor, or to make a major lifestyle change. I've been existing on mostly raw vegetables since last Thursday. The organic salad bar at WholeFoods�, while pricey, is still light years less expensive then a professionally managed diet program, I assume. I snack on whole grain raisin bran mixed with oat bran flakes and unsweetened soy milk. It seems to be a combination that is working for me. I was telling Corazon that I feel so much better too. We will see. I'm going to have to come to an equilibrium on what I spend to eat at the salad bar and how often I eat at home. I don't think my budget can support eating their all the time.

I'm absolutely obsessed with the Harry Potter books this summer. Even my art has found a muse in them.

Harry Potter and the Golden Snitch, Aluminum Sheet, steel wire, Acrylic Paints 5'9" by 4'

Corazon and I have jointly coined the term 'Potterphile*' to describe my obsession a rather appropriate descriptor if not for the negative etymological connotations.

*I'm not so egotistical as to believe ourselves the first to coin this term, but we would like to think so.