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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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lost days and dinosaurs
Today a day like the others. Today, up at noon, breakfast of mac'n'cheese from a box and full-fat yogurt and coca-cola. Television. Working on the dreaded bookshelves in the kitchen. Surfing: todolistmagazine.com, feed.com., bust.com, bitchmagazine.com, holecity.com, mail. Last night Max and I finished our x-mas shopping: two books for Mamere (M.F.K Fisher and a women's travel adventure book) and a tiny fish tank for the little girl, Ruby, whose name we pulled off the tree at the Co-op. We wrapped the gift for Mamere, and Max's mother (a deepfryer, which she hinted at the last time we were there, but mostly hinted at in a way that suggested that she was feeling us out about the very deep white-trashiness of the idea, so I am sure that Puke has one and gushed sickly-sweetly over it, prompting MaxMom to dream of itsy-bitsy fried hors d'oeuvres and such). I also wrapped a few of Rutgirl's presents (a combined mix of christmas and birthday). There isn't much left of this preparation stuff. I shouldn't be online right now, as I am waiting for a call from Sophistica: She and MayFlowers and I and any other et ceteras are supposed to get together for drinks to celebrate the end of the semster. I wouldn't be able to go until Max gets home (around 6 or so, so I don't know why I bothered to agree, as the plan had been for mid-afternoon). I really should shower before considering any socializing. Listening to David Byrne's "In Spite of Wishing and Wanting" which is slightly groovy and slightly disturbing in a groovy and disturbing kind of way. I wanted to see how much it'd change the sound of my writing, but I don't think it's helping. I'm never going to escape the feeling that I should be doing something more important, I have the idea. I'm in some kind of rut, I tell you. Max and I are supposed to have sushi sometime (also a traditional celebration of the end of the semester). He usually gets me a card and writes in it how proud he is of me, and then he buys me a gift. (This time it was a Frida Khalo lightswitch plate, because I love and admire Frida so much.) So far we haven't gone, because I feel guilty about the fact that there often isn't much for Max to do/eat (vegetarian that he is) while I gorge myself on raw fish and rice. He never complains, of course, but I feel like the guy from the Monty Python film who explodes at the end of the meal, while Max eats a tiny bowl of rice and pickles, and drinks maybe tea/mostly water. I don't much like being the carnivore in the relationship, if only because it so mirrors the tone of the relationship in general, I think. I'm T. Rex, Max a brontosaurus. Did I just compare us to dinosaurs?
More lies:
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