Hello, dearest. Late Sunday afternoon. Jerrice is on with Women of Note. I am trying to feel cheerful, but it's hard with the overcast all day and part of my divided mind trying to buck up and say, girl, you have wasted a couple of years on this mind game. I need more attention than occasional pagehits or 0 min/0 sec pings to my blog from such places as, this morning, the Arabian desert, my blog found via Mr. NFS's profile. (Is it he who's pinging me? Though he's my sole Follower, I'm doubtful.) I go onto his website. I can't figure out how anyone could ever access his profile. I am constantly trying to read things, and it's exhausting, because I think I'm reading too much into things.
I have a sober fantasy where I go to a psychiatrist and try to explain myself. Laughable, just laughable. All about messages in songs and pings.
I am all μελαγχολικοί τύποι now.
Went for a walk this morning. Had hot fantasies over an older man who walks his χαριτωμένοι και χαμογελαστοί dog there. I won't do anything, anything, at all, I promise. Yeah, somebody might put out a feeler, a move, and I'll be all like, well yeah, I'm married, plus spoken for and devoted besides, in my heart. (My nocturnal dreams, on the other hand, are far more freewheeling.)
Full disclosure: I did a google-variation today and discovered a new image of you, taken last summer and uploaded to the web in the last several days. I like the image, though you need a haircut. I compare it to the one you yourself sent to me, that was taken a couple of months later. Sea change.
What else today? Made spinach & goat cheese omelet for breakfast, along with leftover baked potatoes fried up with red onion & herbes de provence. Lunch was homemade pizza again, with mushrooms, crumbled sausage & parmesan. Lay down for a bit on the sofa in the living room and remembered when we used to squeeze onto that super-narrow couch in your parents' fireplace room. Wished so much you were with me. Wakeful sleep last night, constant ache & longing for you.
Read more of Sun Also Rises today. In Book II. No wonder I slogged through it in high school. I'm slogging through the train trip through France and Basque country travelogue plus long, plot-free asides on trout-fishing. I cannot wait til Brett and the count and the other chess pieces of Robert & Jake reappear all together on the scene to carry on that passion play.
Meant to say that I would very much have liked to go see Roman Polanski's Ghost Writer today, but the nearest it was playing was Great Barrington at noon, and - absolutely completely understandably - D couldn't spare the car from 11 to 4. But that movie is on my radar, and I hope very much it comes here. Or that I can see it on the big screen some other way.
Total ramble here, darling. Do I dare to say that? Maybe you're not even reading this at all. Who's to know?
What else? Vacuumed most of the house. These days, that feels like something. Just keeping on top of things. I do not want a Grey Gardens existence. On e-town this morning Nick Forster interviewed a woman who started an NFP when a homeless couple, the wife pregnant, asked her for water at her son's soccer game that she was attending. This was early morning and I was lying by the pellet stove but boy, her account was compelling. So many homeless, people slipping through the cracks everywhere. The whole idea of the way things are set up, and how they just don't fit the way people & their circumstances actually work.
Oh, I could go on further in this vein. I myself was raised to have Firm Ideas. Principles.
I also feel myself to have been a Voodoo Doll.
Dearest, perhaps you are nowhere around for this.
Except that that lily lily lily song is on now which makes me think that it's not all in my head.
Am feeling ever so grey-sky'd and doubtful, but here are some extremely heartfelt hugs and kisses - just in case...