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the latest
waddle: good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03 elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01 building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19 ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09 my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04
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Today I had popcorn and dried cranberries for lunch and I thought: oh my god I could make a festive holiday garland! (I really did think it just like that, too, in breathless Valley-Girl-speak. ) But I couldn't find a needle and thread in the office so I gave up. There are literally piles of work to do but it is difficult to get motivated when (1) I know I am going away very soon; (2) the Powers That Be keep asking me to sit in various meetings about various bunches of nothing; and (3) when my brain is functioning at about half the normal speed because it is 10 freaking degrees in this office. I can't feel my hands and I have my giant cashmere scarf wrapped around me about four times. I am a giant maki roll. (My body is the rice, my soul is the nugget of oshinko, and the cashmere scarf is the seaweed.) The scarf is necessary because otherwise I experience the Extremely Pointed Nipples, even through my brassiere and sweater, and although I realize people are probably not even glancing in my chestular direction I'd rather not take a chance on causing anyone boob-viewing trauma like that. Aren't I considerate? Some people, uh, really REALLY like Mahler. I want a bioluminescent dinoflagellate of my very own. Walking down the street, brushing my hair, drinking a beer, masturbating, reading philosophy, showering, making phone calls, editing (note: these activities are not in any particular order), are all but puny distractions from thinking about bioluminescent dinoflagellates or saying the phrase "bioluminescent dinoflagellate." And then I was thinking about what if the word "cake" and the word "tumor" had their meanings reversed, and everyone gathered around for a piece of the birthday tumor (oh, just a little piece, I really shouldn't) and doctors disucssed the various treatment options for your brain cake (we'll do a round of radiation therapy to shrink the cake, then we'll go in there and remove it. Mmmm, buttercream frosting!) Anyway. Someone needs to rub my head and throw a blanket over me, I make less and less sense as I get more and more worried about things. If I had several wishes, I would wish that I could get over the feeling that I am constantly Fucking Up. It's a fairly severe anxiety, and it won't go away no matter how many worthless laurels I achieve or don't achieve. I want to be unconscious for days, I want death-defying levels of gin, I want some music that hasn't been written yet, I want tenderness and affection so badly that my common sense is damaged, I want long electronic letters, I want a skilled team of professionals. Today I feel like a slush-soaked mitten. On the train it is crowded and I stand next to this older bald guy who is really laboriously writing something in a notebook in big round Palmer Method printing, and I almost can't help reading over his shoulder and it's this sad pseudo suicide note: "I think that my life has become a burden and that no one would notice or care if I jumped into a river or off a building. At least then I wouldn't have to worry about things like colonoscopes." I don't really have an opinion on whether or not this guy should stay alive (well, I do, in a general sense: I think he should. Why not stick around to see how it all turns out? Pretend it's like a really painfully bad movie that could get better, or at least you know it will be over soon enough without you walking out of the [smoke-filled] theater), but I almost wanted to tell him that colonoscopy, unless this is a "second-look" procedure and he fears a dire prognosis, is not that bad. I have not had one personally but that seems to be the general consensus. Oh I could spend all day here. I am off to California so updates may be spotty. But you people could probably use a break from me anyway. ---mimi smartypants has lost all shape and form and is now pure texture. back/forward |
