Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Seventeen page hits from the UAE this morning. Maybe that really was Cheney the other day. Rabbit hole indeed. Where's Hamlet, the exquisitely ambivalent one, each phrase a perfect contradiction of the last. "We can't ever" (considering what follows) has me reaching for my appointment book. Delicious coffee, saving pie for later. Waking, feeling langorous and luxurious. What to write? D heading over the river to the vet with Rafe. Rafe sleeps against me all night long now. Birds chirp outside the windows. Has the woodpecker finished drilling its nest under the eaves? The jackhammer's been quiet this morning. I have pages and pages of hieroglyphics. This week's, so far: 10/16 - 12:05. 10/17 - 0. 10/18 - 0 (unless 1:25 from L.A. and/or 16:17 from Long Beach). 10/19 - 0. 10/20...

(à la Gombrowicz
Monday: Me.
Tuesday: Me.
Wednesday: Me.
Thursday: Me.

Scraping of pan downstairs. D fixing oatmeal for himself. I'm long bored with it. Contemplating cheese omelet for breakfast. Maybe not if quesadillas for lunch. I enjoyed oatmeal as a girl the way my grandmother made it. I remember it as a bit salty, with a crunch of granulated sugar, warm milk puddling amid islands of oats. Are you the one who crumpled the gallery invite into a ball and pressed it into my hand? I went the next day because it seemed as though I was following a clue and it was all very mysterious, people waiting for someone to appear. And I was stranded and had to go to a complete stranger's house - well, not complete - I knew him but we weren't friends but I was desperate, it was either him or those two down the street but no thanks, not after being being kicked to the curb after election day by that pair of toddlers with their human toys. Ah, whatever, with them. The problem with narcissists is that you - I anyway - don't recognize them til after the fact, after getting mired in their thick ropes of goop. Lovely ceramic vase on my desk, patterned like birch bark, with an expressive spray of dying cosmos. Colors still vivid - pink petals, yellow centers - still supple and green yet shriveled as though electrified. I wish I could take a picture but my birthday camera - hardly two months old - is on its way to Nikon for repairs. Do you write for Law & Order? But I never met you, not that I recall, just talked to you over the phone and you seemed to like the way I sounded and asked me if I was interested in writing something - was that the offer? now I don't recall - but I felt intimidated and anxious and declined. And then you were angry with me because I had to take your name off the rolls - but it wasn't my decision, I wanted to keep you on - I didn't have the authority not to. So silly, looking back, that you couldn't have remained on the list of qualified appellate lawyers, considering the hacks who get elected to office, elected to judgeships! Oh the craziness. I always look for your name on the credits, all through these many years. Yesterday I finally googled your image and was surprised, I had pictured you completely differently. No matter, not at all. I'll let this fly for now, perhaps I'll post later, perhaps not - movie this evening, so no posting tonight. Good morning, sweet princes.

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