Another storm is coming. The Girl is incredulous. She feels insignificant, as well. The world seems to be unaware of the people living on it. If it were aware, would 5 hurricanes strike Florida in one summer?

Maybe the world isn’t orbiting the sun, as the science guys profess. Maybe it is trapped in a snow globe, owned by a particularly cruel child, who shakes it up every chance he gets. He shakes and shakes and the waters swirl, creating great tides and eddies, storms and more storms. He watches the swirling waters, waiting for them to settle and then; another good shake. Hopefully he will grow tired of this game, lay us down, and go play with some other toy.

The Girl has been learning to play poker. It was quiet by accident that She was pulled into the game. She met a young man at a party. His name is Seamus Finnegan. He is as Irish as the name would lead you to believe. But he is not the red-headed, rosy checked leprechaun-ish sort of Irish. He is more the dark-haired, ship building, IRA, James Joyce-y sort of Irish: beautiful and brooding and too good to be true. She talked to Seamus for quiet a while. He is funny and intelligent. These are The Girl’s two favorite qualities. He explained that he and his partner Gabriel design and create custom furniture. She admires people who are of use (mechanics, bricklayers, house painters, etc.) Intrigued The Girl decided to visit their workshop at the first opportunity.

That opportunity came last Friday. She and The Boy were rearranging their library when they realized that they owned more book than case. They had a need for furniture. She remembered the dark Irish man and suggested that they go to his place to look over his wares. The Boy agreed and the very next moment they were standing in the midst of some of the most beautiful furniture She had ever seen. Some of the pieces were made of solid hardwoods: ash, cherry, maple, oak, pecan, rosewood, walnut, and poplar. Others were made of cedar, cypress, fir, or pine, all softwoods. No nail was to be seen. Every cabinet, chair, table, and bookcase was held together by mortise and tenon or tongue and groove joints. Some of the pieces were finished, some unfinished. All of them were amazing. After walking around the showcase for an hour, running her hand over the smooth surfaces, The Girl found and fell in love with a beautiful purple-heart bookshelf. The wood, a rich, deep purple, had been rubbed to a warm glow. The case is horizontally, rather than vertically, oriented. She knew exactly were this art would be displayed in her home. The Boy paid Seamus and worked out the details of delivery with Gabe. The three of them chatted for a while and The Girl continued to wander about admiring the furniture. While She was opening and closing the drawers of a particularly beautiful dresser, who should walk by but Pageen Harahan? The Girl sort of smiled at the mayor and then CRASH!

Everyone ran to the basement stairs to discover what had made the loud noise. Seamus went down the stairs while Gabe hemmed and hawed. The Girl just followed Seamus down stairs without thinking.

To her amazement the basement wasn’t full of tools and sawdust or even furniture. Instead it was a gaming room as impressive as anything in Las Vegas. Roulette wheels, and one-armed-bandits, keno, two blackjack tables, and two poker tables filled the cavernous room. Clouds of smoke wafted through the pools of light over each table. Along one wall was a mahogany bar, no doubt created by Seamus and Gabe, where people were purchasing cocktail from a red-headed bar tender. The room was packed with people and smelled of bourbon and expensive cigar smoke. The source of the crash, a very fat man, was lying on the floor at one of the poker tables. It appeared as if he had just keeled over.

While Seamus ran over to deal with the man lolling at the table, feet straight up in the air, The Girl took it all in. She didn’t even realize that Gabe was now beside her. “Now you know our secret.” He waited to see her reaction. She just smiled.

Turns out the furniture store is a front for a gaming room run by the Irish mafia, a group of which Seamus is a made man. Since learning this, She and The Boy have been hanging out at Seamus’ place. Gabe has been giving her lessons in poker. She left with $300 last Saturday. All of her friends are there every weekend, as well. David is supplying them with cigars, a boon for his cigar bar, Cubano del Cigarro.

Everybody is happy.

The Girl is feeling dicked over. She made a purchase on the internet and was charged twice. Bastards!

She has decided to begin a month of self-discipline. From September 13th to October 15th, She is going to eat only healthy foods and only in appropriate amounts. She is going to the gym at least three times a week. She is going to Blog once a week. She is going to read a poem by a different poet every night before She goes to sleep. She is going to write a sonnet. She is going to do these things for just a month. Her reasoning being that anyone can do anything, endure anything, if they know it is going to end. At the end of the month, She will reassess the situation.

Why is She doing this? The reasons are endless. Here is a manageable list:

1. She finds pleasure in being strong.

2. Her doctor says it will help her control her blood glucose which is out of whack again.

3. Her writing could use work.

4. She wants to prove to herself that She can.

5. She is smart and funny and kind; a good cook and a good friend; a talented writer and a fair artist; a good teacher and a great deal of fun at a party...And the whole world says, "You are fat." She cannot change the world, but she can make them regret their pettiness.

6. Her mother-in-law asks, "So how is your diet?" The MIL is always suggesting that they diet, or share a salad for dinner, and once suggested that The Boy might be less of a jerk (back when he was) if She lost some weight.

7. She enjoys the feeling of denial in much the same way She enjoys the feeling of indulgence. They are two sides of the same coin.

8. On October 18th, She will be 37.

9. If you aren't growing, you are dying.

10. The Boy promises he will celebrate a month of self-discipline, too.

11. It is only a month.