I’m the sort of hungry where I feel like I’ll be sick if I don’t eat soon. Chicken nuggets, why are you so far away? I generally go to lunch at 1 – I might have to go earlier today.
Started rereading my novel last night. There are parts that are just astoundingly bad (c’mon, I needed 50,000 words!) – and other parts that take my breath away. It’s so personal and tacky and, oh, I don’t know. I wish it were more, just like I wish my blog were more – but it’s the story that was in my heart – and contrived as it is, I’m proud of it.
The move is almost done. I cleaned our stuff out of the attic last night while N checked on Eva. I wanted to go over there but it didn’t feel right. We have an astounding amount of garbage – hope Landlord Mark doesn’t get charged extra for it! I have one more load for my car – just some small boxes and the cleaning supplies. Strange to think we’ll be done with it tonight. Nate has to arrange to have the Jeep towed – and I have to figure out how to put our bikes in my car or just ride them over – and that’s it. I don’t feel the same sort of grief I felt when we left 130 – but then we were only here a year.
I’m wearing my favorite purple peasanty shirt today. I found it in the attic on Sunday – hoorah! This morning as I was getting dressed I remembered the first time I wore it to work – I was still at Barnes & Noble – I wore this top with a broomstick black skirt and a pentacle – my hair was still long long – Aron commented that I was a witchy-woman, very Stevie Nicks. Not sure why that’s stuck with me – memories like that make me miss the heyday of the bookstore.
Thought for the day: I would really like it if someone marketed a paint color as “blue screen of death.”
(Yes, I need more sleep.)
N and I talked about sex last night. Might not seem outrageous being that we’re married, but it’s something I rarely talk about. Once again, that may seem strange because I’m (or I consider myself) such a sexual person. I just don’t talk about it. Anyway, we talked about the ways we’re different – and I was amused that the ways we’re different are so stereotypical for our genders. He’s a visual person – and I’m so so mental. It was just funny. We talked for a long time, which was really nice, except that I was exhausted and totally ready to pass out.
I noticed this morning that I have made my mark on the house. How’s that? Books. Everywhere. In the spare room, Great Books on a folded quilt with a pencil for a bookmark – I was sprawled there reading last night. In my “office,” an edition of Eliot right on top of the answering machine – I was thinking Prufrock for the message. In the bathroom, The Animal Family – I was carrying it around and must’ve put it down there. In the living room, among the stacks, Orlando – I paused in my cataloging to read. In the kitchen, The Western Canon – again, must’ve been carrying it around. I’m making this place MINE, one book at a time.
Oh, and for those who have asked, yes, the hole in the street is better. It’s all gone, actually, and now they’re at work making more holes further up. Good times.
Doing the right thing is rarely easy.
I’m reading Great Books by David Denby and am frankly swept away. A review from amazon: As a former classics major, I have followed the debate over the western canon with a great deal of interest. But after slogging through Harold Bloom’s The Western Canon for over a year and a half, this book was an absolute delight. I totally agree! I’ve been slugging through The Western Canon for a few days, not a year and a half, and I’m finding Denby a delight. His responses to the books and poems aren’t those of a critic or stuffy academic – they are the reactions of a reader. OK, I guess that isn’t totally accurate. Denby IS a critic – he has written for The New Yorker, among others – but I guess his responses just seemed more natural than Bloom. He is exhausted, horrified, delighted, bored, etc. It feels like a post-class debriefing with a friend – not a lecture during which you’re likely to fall asleep, then get yelled at by the prof. I love it and feel bad that I didn’t finish the book the first time I started.
Oh, my apologies to those whose emails I cite in entirety or in part herein. Sometimes, as above, I really like the way I expressed something and don’t want to try to rephrase it. It’s not a crime to self-plagiarize, is it?
Joe dropped off his photos from Sarah and Hannah’s party – and there are a few of me! How nice to have proof that I was at this party. I think he and Nate felt bad because there weren’t ANY photos of me from Good Friday other than Newman’s. Lots of photos of Amity this time, just like there were lots of Jen from Good Friday. Funny how the center of attraction and energy ends up being the source of the most photos.
The post conversion woes toil on. It’s like one issue is fixed – which then causes another one. No 45 page reports, just new changes, new systems, new things to get used to.
WE HAVE A WORKING PHONE!. No more trips to the apartment for email and message-checking. Now if cable really gets hooked up on Saturday, we’ll be set.
Couldn’t sleep last night. N wanted to go to bed at 9:30, but I dawdled for a while. Fell asleep right away, but then woke at 2 and laid awake until 2:30 before deciding that reading Harold Bloom might help. Thought about watching “The Hours” but decided I wanted something uplifting to take my mind off, well, my mind. So Harold Bloom, of course! I didn’t get much of anywhere other than frustrated. More later.
Some nice email this morning.
Felt a bit subservient yesterday – calls at work demanding that I pick something up on my way home, demands to cook dinner, demands to come to bed – then when I want to bring over a carload of stuff from the apartment since we were there anyway I get a huffy and tired response so I end up carrying out 2/3rds of the stuff by myself, still in my work clothes. I'm not your fucking slave. I'm not your fucking servant. I'm not your fucking possession. Maybe being around Sarah's friends isn't good for my relationship for an entirely different reason: I came home feeling valued and gorgeous and worth something more than as the
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, â€œWhat is it?â€
Let us go and make our visit.
—“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” – T.S. Eliot
What a weekend. Sarah’s party – drinking and divine dips – the new house – birthday cakes and drinks from Rubbermaid tubs. Sleeping – or not sleeping – on the couch and talking all night of books and music and just about everything else. A burn on my wrist to remind me. “Let us go and make our visit.”
Still no phones. Nothing til Tuesday. It isn’t worth my energy today to worry about it.
Conversion today – sorry, “system upgrade.” Dan and I have been writing up tickets since 9am and will continue to do so for several more hours. It’s been a mess so far for us – but technically not too bad. I’m just tired of writing and looking forward to a cold beer at the end of the day. Clint has promised us food &/or drink, which I am much looking forward to.
A new tenant signed a lease last night, so we’re definitely out by 8/1. Good times. The super good news for us is that we don’t have to be as stringent with our cleaning cos Mark will be cleaning too.
Oh yeah, there’s a GIANT FREAKING HOLE in the middle of our road.
No blogging over the weekend as will still have no internet/phone. S’ok, I guess. We’re headed to Champaign tomorrow for Sarah’s swanky do – then more packing.