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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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A short analysis of Minuku-san
There will be dinner tonight with the women whom I have not seen since the beginning of last semester: Le, Ama, Ni, Ni's Ste. I should invite Marvin, but I'm not going to, nursing, as I am, the bitterness over his not coming to dinner on Sunday with the Max and the Minuku. And there was dinner with the Minuku, which was very strange. I don't know how to read that guy at all, which kind of freaks me out and makes me a bit nervous. After I decided not to be intimidated by him, I wanted to be his friend. But Minuku is sort of like this dog that a guy I used to work for had: he used to be a guard dog, but he never, ever wagged his tail or moved his ears, so you never knew what was coming from him. It was a bit odd, like he didn't know how to be a dog, or how to communicate with people or with other dogs, or maybe he just didn't care to. Anyway, Minuku is that dog. And it's unusual. When I was a waitress, I got used to being able to walk up to a table and "read" the people sitting there in order to more accurately ascertain what they were going to require of me. And I'm not a stupid woman, so it became, after a time, relatively easy and accurate in most cases. But Minuku? Unreadable. This does not keep me from wanting to know him and to be his friend, it just has this effect of making me very, very nervous when I am around him. And a nervous Sublingua is a very strange Sublingua. (And, yes, I realize that I just referred to myself in the 3rd person, which, as JC might say, is the sign of a PD.) A nervous me (that would be me, Sublingua) is a babbly me, a chatty me, an unintelligible me. Anyway, there is that. Oh, and I guess I should clarify about the Minuku/dog comparison. Minuku is not a mean person. Not at all. In fact, aside from the tinge of elitism that seems to infect so many intelligent people and a lack of willingness to believe in the primacy of feminism, he's rather pleasant. He can't or won't talk about anything that doesn't interest him, but he's still pleasant, and often quite funny, especially after a few drinks (his, not mine). I enjoy his company, despite the nervousness and the other things.
More lies:
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