Ah hell.

When we spotted this note posted on Crazy Mary's door yesterday, we thought "finally, she's being kicked out!" A party was beginning to take form in my head. Invitations would have to go out, calls made, Crazy Mary stories gathered.

Closer inspection this morning revealed the letter to be a notice from the local Heights public library branch alerting her to the arrival of her requested copy of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.

I mentally cancelled the party, recalled the unread evites in my head. "Nevermind the barbecue fixins," I told my imaginary grocery store cashier, "party's off." But even in my head, the cashier gives me attitude.