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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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resoluteless and yoko
Up at noon. Made mac'n'cheese for breakfast/lunch. Had a coke and a cup of tea. Dodged phone calls from MaxMom and the brill Sophistica. Took a call from my mother's number only to be confronted with my niece, whose ability to inspire guilt is crippling to say the least. She wanted to know if I wanted to go with her and my mother to my grandmother's to eat posole in honor of the new year. I declined, as I haven't showered, but invited her to come over later. Her reply, delivered in a perfectly saddened voice: "But I probably won't be around later." Where did she learn such technique so early? She'll be deadly by the time she has her own children. Oh, and, yes, it's new year's day, isn't it? (I refuse to capitalize holidays. Just because everyone else capitalizes on holidays doesn't mean that I have to.) Max and I were boring old coots last night, keeping our intake of influential substances to a weeknight-like minimum. We watched old Dick drop his ball on Time's Square which was filled with the usual round-up of out-of-towners. We didn't even crack open the bottle of champagne which has been sitting on the bottom shelf of the refridgerator since my last birthday. (Not that I was all that keen on doing it anyway. I don't like alcohol, so it's not all that great a treat to me to drink champagne. If I liked the stuff, I'd drink it all the time; it's cheaper than coca-cola, which I am absolutely addicted to.) Anyway, it's new year's day. It's a new year. I didn't bother with resolutions. I have enough trouble keeping my life in order without making trouble in the form of promises to myself that I can't keep. I did give up smoking one year--but that was not in any way connected to a new year's resolution. The only resolution that I ever made that I kept longer than an exhaled breath was about ten years ago. I resolved to learn to love Yoko Ono. I thought: Well, John Lennon loved her, and I love John Lennon, so I should probably love her too. I really tried hard. I listened to a bunch of her music. I looked at a bunch of her art. It got to be September, and I was still trying to figure out why I disliked her, and trying to learn to love her. I finally realized that the general dislike of her was, in part at least, the result of her being a foriegner, an outsider, and a woman who was influential in a beloved celebrity's life. When I realized that, I had a new appreciation for her, but I never really and truly learned to love her. If you're reading this: I'm sorry, Yoko. I tried. You're not for everybody. But this year, I remained resolutely resolutionless. It doesn't necessarily make me a better person, but it probably makes me a slightly saner person. Max is in the shower right now. We'll probably venture out of the house today, which should be a new and unusual thing for us to do. It's the last day of his vacation, pobrecito.
More lies:
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