Grace is dyeing her hair back to normal. I’m beginning to think maybe I should chop all mine off a la Emily but I don’t think I can quite yet.
I have lots of homework and I’m wasting time. I think I’ll go eat some eggs.
I have a Latin quiz tomorrow. I finished Bridget Jones’ Diary for the third time (I think?) the other night. (For some reason I have read the sequel many more times, perhaps because I have it in paperback.) My front porch has been painted, and Grace is not yet back from Chicago. I’m not letting myself download any more episodes of the L Word until next weekend. I tried on some shoes today that I think may help me in my dream of becoming Bette Porter, and always looking sleek, put together, and beautiful, even when very sad. The shoes are key.
I meant to be Elton John’s Tiny Dancer yesterday, but over the past few days I realized that it was too subtle to really make sense, and just ended up being Eileen Dressed Better than Usual, or perhaps, Girl Dressed in Roommate’s Clothing, or, if I was lucky, Maybe a Ballerina.
I got a little confused coming home last night, and I think I cursed out loud right as someone I sort of know walked past me. I can’t decide if this was evidence of my drunkenness or if I’m just always like that.
Well, they lost. But I still love them. And this way I won’t waste my fall break watching baseball. Instead, I will waste it watching The L Word. I did say I would go into work today and tomorrow though so that’ll have to wait.
I went to bed last night after the 13th inning and woke up half expecting Florida to have lost thousands of votes and the verdict to not be in. I dreamed up a few ending scenarios in my sleep. In one of them I was takling to C.J. Cregg, in my high school, about it. I think my obsessions are mixing themselves together. (Not the high school part. I’m definitely not obsessed with my high school.)
Man I’m sleepy.
I had a dream last night that someone sent me a text message of an entire Hartley Coleridge poem as a way of getting me to ask them out. It was pretty romantic. Upon waking up, I realized that the poem I had in mind, though lovely and nostalgic, doesn’t really apply. I was charmed nonetheless, and saddened that because of text message character-limits, such an epistle would be impossible except in cellular dreamland.
Actually I think in the dream I combined it with a poem by Amy Lowell. And I think combined the two don’t really say, “I’m lonely, love me,” as the dream would have liked, but something more like, “I love you, never change/Why did we change?”.
Here’s the poem, anyway:
When we were idlers in the loitering rills,
The need of human love we little noted.
Our love was nature; and the piece that floated
On the white mist, and dwelt upon the hills,
To sweet accord subdued our wayward wills:
One soul was ours, one mind, one heart devoted,
That, wisely doting, asked not why it doted,
And ours the unknown joy, which knowing kills.
But now I find how dear thou wert to me;
That man is more than half of nature’s treasure,
Of that fair beauty which no eye can see,
Of that sweet music which no ear can measure;
And now the streams sing on for others’ pleasure,
The hills sleep on in their eternity.
(-H.C.)
I like him lots just because of this one, although he was a relative failure. I think maybe he was a drunk. But what can you expect from the son of an opium eater, really. To each his own.
Also, apparently my dad shared an apartment in Cambridge, Mass. after college with this new head of the Federal Reserve.
Grace has a Grey’s Anatomy quote as her away message. Recently I’ve felt like a total sap (my taste in poetry might have clued you into that) because I’ve cried at the ends of the last two episodes.
I’ve lost a vital pedicure tool. (Okay, maybe not as vital as the toenail clippers, but close.) I don’t even know what it’s called, so I’m not sure how to find out how to get a new one. It was given to me years ago as part of a very large pedicure/manicure set that I appreciated very much but that made my father uneasy. I know I’ve had several sharp things confiscated from me recently by nervous TSA people, but I’m certain this wasn’t one of them. Every time I cut my toenails I give in and search all the same old places for this thing with no success. Instead I only further my conviction that I’m going crazy.
Speaking of going crazy, I keep having trouble getting through books like We Were the Mulvaneys (which I ended up having to return prematurely to the library) and, currently, I Know this Much is True, the first because, understandably, rape makes me uneasy, and the second because it makes me think too much about a grandfather I never met (and who makes me sometimes hesitantly use the phrase “going crazy”). Also I do all of my recreational reading at bedtime. So you can see why I end up most nights resorting to Bridget Jones, whom I know and love pretty much front to back.
My mom is calling the White Sox the Off-White Sox. I’m not sure why, but I think it’s pretty funny. Is it because they have pin-striped uniforms? Or because they haven’t quite lived down the Black Sox scandal? Is she naming them based on a slow, decades-long gradient toward whiteness? (I’m going to pretend this entire naming system has no connection to anything racial, although it sounded just then suspiciously like it does.)
The Astros are losing. I’m okay with them ultimately losing. My dad told me he’s rooting for Chicago. But I’d like them to at least put up a good fight. (Although I’m not suggesting that a 7-6 loss in the bottom of the ninth is by any means pathetic.) I’m also developing a rankling distaste for 270-pound pitchers who never have to bat, thanks to the AL.
Someday, soon, I will stop talking about baseball, for probably at least another year.
G’night.
I just watched the first season finale of the L Word (hey, it’s not all I did with my night). SO good. And I liked Damien Rice’s The Blower’s Daughter way better with this episode than with that movie about creepy people and Natalie Portman.
I think I’ve figured out I’m anemic, since two of the main symptoms are fatigue (check) and dizziness (check). So tomorrow I’m going grocery shopping with Emily and Orlando and I’m going to buy a lot of steak. Except by a lot of steak I mean iron supplements.
Woo hoo! Thanks to Lost, I wasn’t able to watch the whole thing and torment myself for the whole three hours. Also thankfully, it turned out to not be tormenting.
Astros v. White Sox on Saturday! Whatever will Grace and I do. But really, I’m only going to watch the first game if I’m bored, because I have a paper to start, and things to do, and I know people, and I have, you know, a life (ha) that’s not based on sports. And although I do want the Astros to win, it’d really be okay with me if the White Sox did. And by okay, I mean I could be happy for them, and by them, I mean a lot of people and fans whom I don’t really know (except for Grace, who is not obsessed with baseball right now).
Should I go to the John Crowley English lunch tomorrow? yes? no? Will people I know be there? Will the food be any good? Get me answers to these questions before noon tomorrow.
Time magazine made a list of the 100 best books in English since 1923. I think it’s silly, but interesting. And I have to keep myself from using it as a reading lists, because I’ve learned that when I make reading lists, I tend to stop reading.