I have a profound, eternal loathing for the construction next door.
Day accounting, because I am too brain-dead to actually write
-Cricket left today to go back home and visit her family for a week, leaving me to my own devices. (5)
+New dresses came in the mail today, so I can wear a dress tomorrow. (3)
-Today wasn’t Friday (2)
+Tomorrow is Friday (3)
+I still have three Otori books to read (6)
So, that’s what? 5? I am obviously thankful that Crics left me the Otori books to read while she’s gone. Clearly I cannot be left to my own devices for any length of time.
My Brezsny-scope for this week says:
Ernest Hemingway said that his best work was a very short story consisting of six words: “For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.” Alan Moore’s brief masterpiece of fiction is, I think, just as good: “Machine. Unexpectedly, I’d invented a time.” Here’s another gem, written anonymously: “The last man on earth heard a knock on the door.” Your assignment in the coming week, Aries, is to be as pithy as these terse geniuses. Proceed on the assumption that your effectiveness will thrive in direct proportion to your brevity and conciseness. Assume that you will be most likely to get what you want if you use the fewest words and the most minimal actions necessary.
Hmmm. We’ll see, Rob. We’ll see.
Today I was talking to one of my coworkers about the Tales of the Otori books I’m reading. I asked him if he had read Shogun, and he said it was one of his favorite books. So I asked if he’d seen the miniseries, and he was like, “Yeah, it wasn’t as good as the book.” And I’m thinking, “Also, the sun is hot.”
Really, is this a statement that needs to be said ever? Is it not an accepted universal truth that the book is going to be better than the movie? Generally, the basis for comparison is, does the movie do justice to the book? (My exception to this is that I really really liked the movie version of Brokeback Mountain better than the novella, but since it is a novella rather than a full-length novel, I’m not sure that counts.)
*sighs* I really did not want to get out of bed this morning, and I really should go to bed early tonight. But, see, the third book is sitting right here on the couch next to me, its cover flapping with the air from the fan, as if to say, “Reeeeeaaaaaaaad meeeeeeee. Reeeeeeaaaaaaaaad meeeeeeee!!!” I know if I start it, I won’t get anything done this evening, and I will be up too late tonight, and I’ll be all grumpy and groggy tomorrow. But…
I have no willpower.
All in all, not a bad weekend. I spent the entire evening on Saturday out on the porch reading Across the Nightingale Floor. It was awesome! When Crics is right about a book, she is totally right. It’s like a Shogun-esq fantasy. So much fun! So then started Grass for His Pillow, and there are three more books to devour after that one.
Yesterday, Crics cooked us fancy fancy brunch, and we had entertaining boy over for company. It was good times. Then our friend, Little Brother, called and invited Crics and I to dinner. So, we spent the evening in his entertaining company, in which he fed us good foods and was generally very very amusing. He is, perhaps, my favorite little brother ever.
After we got back home, Crics and I watched a documentary on Hippos, as you do. Because sometimes I record Hippo documentaries for Crics due to her crazy hippo love. If there were a documentary on bacon, I would record that too.
Today I am doing laundry. Grocery shopping needs to happen at some point, and then there is the brunch-cooking-induced disaster area that is our kitchen. Boo, responsibilities. Especially when there is a half-read book and porch-sittin’ calling my name.
Yesterday at work, I was reading this article about Bonnie and Clyde, because on yesterday in history, they were ambushed and killed. The problem with me doing this is that now I’m all, “Ooooh! I want to learn more!” (Last week it was Anne Boleyn and I was thinking, “Sooo, how long would it take me to learn about the history of the British monarchy?”) Seriously, though, I just love stuff like that. Concise summaries of histories that makes me want to learn stuffs? This is why I do not watch the History Channel. I have, in fact, lost days of my life to the History Channel. It’s like geek crack.
On the down side, my computer is dead like a dead, dead thing. I’m not sure what to do about this. All my important stuff was backed-up on my external hard drive, so I’m not really worried that I lost anything. Just. *flaps* I have no computer. Crics has a baby laptop I can use until I can afford a new one, so that’s good. I guess I’m just mourning the loss. It was, like, my first out-of-college grown-up purchase that I saved up for and paid off over the course of a year, and now it is dead dead dead. POOR ME! *laughs*
There are certainly things I could be doing, but I may just spend the rest of the afternoon out on the porch reading. Crics has been on me to read this for a couple weeks now, so perhaps that is what I shall do.
I am filled with a vague sort of anticipatory anxiety today. I think it’s because I had stress dreams last night. While this isn’t too common for me, I do have my triggers. (Seriously, generally I’m disgustingly Pollyanna about everything. Surely this must grate on my friends’ nerves sometimes, when they’re all, “Grump, grump, grump!” and I’m like, “But look! Glass half-full!”)
So my typical stress dream goes something like this:
I’m in a building of some sort — a hotel, a dorm, sometimes a mall or shopping center (last night it was a mall that later turned into a hotel/dorm). At any rate, it’s a big building with lots of staircases, or, in the case of the mall, escalators. The staircases circle around the edge of the building, and there is nothing but big emptiness in the middle. The stairs have no railings and are steep and shallow. The escalators are also steep and shallow, and while they have the railings, they are moving slower than the stairs, so that if you put your hands on them, they pull you backwards.
My balance is always precarious, and there’s never anything to hold on to. I don’t fall during these dreams, but it always feels like I’m one step away from the bottom dropping out from underneath me. If I do reach level ground, it is only wide enough for one person to walk on, and the edges of the floors are curved down into the emptiness.
That being said, I’m really not that stressed. I mean, there are things that I’m a little stressed over, but the thing is, it’s all out of my control. Either everything will come up roses, or it won’t. If it doesn’t? Things will be mildly sucky for awhile. This, too, shall pass. Whateves, man. I am zen.
Besides, the stair dreams? Way better than the pregnancy stress dreams, which I had on a weekly basis when I was getting ready to move here (Moving stress! ACK!) Imagine my relief when I realized they were stress dreams, and not indicative of some heretofore subconscious desire to have lots and lots of babies.
The end of the dream started to make a turn into good territory. I mean, like, good. Well, it hadn’t gotten good yet, but I have the feeling it was really really about to. And then when my alarm went off. Chalk it up to snaps on me courtesy Lords of the Cosmic Jest.
As I was leaving work today, I had the following conversation with a couple of my co-workers:
Supervisor: You look different today.
Me: My hair’s up?
Supervisor: No. You look…brighter. Did you meet someone last night?
Me: Heh. No.
Supervisor: Did you discover your first Adult Bookstore?
Me: No, no. That ship sailed long ago, my friend.
Coworker: Oh-ho. See? She looks all sweet and innocent…
Me: Yes. That’s how I get away with it.
I realized today that I have a three-day weekend coming up. Excellent. That should make the work week move much faster. And it appears that Crics has to work on Monday. Snaps on me for not having exciting plans.
For the past week or so, my inbox has been inundated with e-mails re: my upcoming ten-year high school reunion. *insert obligatory comment about feeling old here* Leave it to my class to start planning the reunion two months beforehand.
It’s funny, because when I was back home just hanging out, I was kind of looking forward to the whole thing. Now that I’m here, actually doing stuff, I’m feeling somewhat apathetic. Perhaps ten years is not yet far enough removed to care all that much?
At any rate, it looks like this shindig is going to take place the weekend of July 12th, and my planned reunion buddy, Sunshine, won’t be able to attend. Also, the Magpies are going to be here that weekend. All things (including the cost of airfare) considered, I think I’ll be skipping this one. I mean, can you blame me?
I’ll catch it the next time around. Surely World Domination will have been achieved by that point and I’ll have a private jet or something.
So, I had this whole post I was going to do on my deep, deep, unending love for Tennessee. About the green and the sun and the people and the music. Miss Sparkle got a dart board, so we have porch darts now. What more do you need in life? And yet, when I sit down to type out my thoughts in flowery, effusive prose of love Love LOVE! I completely blank. (I was going to say “my eloquence escapes me” and now I have Sting stuck in my head. *shakes fist at universe*) In my defense, there were some brain-killing happenings going on today.
Maybe it should be a series-type thing. A periodic post about my ongoing infatuation with Nashville. Today’s topic: Porch-sittin’ (Have relocated to the porch for this portion of our blogging).
Before I moved here, I never truly realized the awesomeness of porch-sittin’. Sure, we had a little balcony at the apartment that my old roommate Boy and I shared, and we would sometimes sit out there in the evenings and talk, but it’s not even close to comparable.
Here at the sorority house, we have a nice big front porch with a porch couch (porch couch!), and when the weather is good, it’s one of the happiest places in the world. During the week, I’ll come home from work, and Crics and I will spend the half-hour we have before she goes to the restaurant sittin’, discussing our day. Or maybe we’ll all go over to Miss Sparkle’s porch with her little table and twinkly lights and laugh about the ridiculous situations we sometimes find ourselves in.
On the weekends, after happy-hour/a show/closing down the restaurant, we’ll all sit together in the cozy intimacy of the dark porch, and we’re able to say just about anything. This is the true brilliance of the porch. If there is an issue to be discussed, a problem to be solved, a good cry to be had, or just the need for peaceful, lazy company, the porch is where it happens. There is something about the way time moves out here, more slowly and easily, without the distractions of the television or computer or stereo.
It is, perhaps, one of the things I’m most looking forward to in the warm days ahead. I tried to impress upon my brother when he was here the significance of the porch couch, but I’m not sure he understood. Not really. Maybe it’s a girl thing? Or, perhaps more time needs to be spent cultivating one’s love of the porch. Whatever the case, I truly believe that if more people took time to sit on the porch and enjoy the company of their loved ones, the world would be a better place.
A little too cheesy? Whateves, man. I’m porch-sittin’. Go with it.
ETA: And a song to go with it! While not the exact aforementioned situation, I feel it’s in the spirit.
Saturday morning is, perhaps, my favorite time of the week. It usually sees (best friend and roommate) Crics and I sitting around in our pjs, drinking coffee and watching bad TV movies. Then our neighbor, Miss Sparkle, comes over and we sit around and talk about the week (and boys) like the bunch of girls we are. This is why our house is nicknamed the sorority house. This Saturday included bacon and google chat with our friend, Paterfamilias, so it was wins all around.
There are more than several things I could be doing right now, but I can’t quite shake the warm, cozy bliss of the morning enough to care. Perhaps some porch-sittin’ is in order.
