I've gotten all introverted on yins, and I'm actually journalling. Yes, I am pouring out my deepest secrets to me, instead of the Internet at large. It's a bizarre turn of events, I know, but it feels good.
But I do miss you, and so here I am.
So I've been on this Nick Hornby binge and I'm 3/4 (or more) through his first, High Fidelity and I just had to share this brilliant line with you.
"So now what? It feels as though I've come to the end of the line. I don't mean that in the American rock'n'roll suicide sense; I mean it in the English Thomas and the Tank Engine sense. I've run out of puff, and come to a gentle halt in the middle of nowhere." (225)
In some universe, I would love to be friends with Nick. I'd call him that, too, just like I call Jen Weiner Jen, even though her books are clearly by JENNIFER.
Funny thing about having friends with people named Susan. Being one, and having gone by Susie most of my life, I generally only was friends with Susans. (I currently am friends with two and work with one.) (So then you have to use last names.) But after 35 years of life, I've now managed to grab a few Sues into my life as well. And so then you have the awkward experience of calling one of the Susans Sue or one of the Sues Susan. This doesn't happen if you name your children something like James. I mean, it's Jimmy, or James. Well, I guess it's also Jamie, so there you go. Robert can be Rob or Bobby or Bob. (Rob is the main character in High Fidelity.)
It's unbelievably eleven in the morning and I have gotten so into Nick Hornby that I almost said eleven in the f**ing morning, cause that's how his characters talk, just as if they walked off the set of Good Will Hunting. I'm sitting here in my nightshirt, still unshowered. I did eat something about an hour ago. Yes, I'm back in that place where I'm scared to eat for wondering if it will stay in me long enough to properly digest. And I haven't dusted in eons and so my allergies were doing a beautiful showing of it this morning.
And I really should be off getting my oil changed, since if I wait til Saturday, that's when EVERYONE is getting their oil changed. But I think that's what I'm doing. I never have Saturdays off, so I never end up doing anything, because no one expects me to be off. I'll have to do something...because most of the day I should be packing, but I have all of Sunday to do that, too, even though my Puritan sense of Sunday says "Packing? on a Sunday? For shame!" Actually, I think NH Sally is free--and I was supposed to stop by to see her last night after work, but yesterday was a day I hardly got through without Gatorade at my side most of the time, so after work I just packed it in and went home.
Well, I think I could finish High Fidelity before it's time to go to work, so that's my goal for the day. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it really is.
Tomorrow is the Stuffed Animal Sleepover. Wish me luck.
All of a sudden I want to know what kind of tree it is that is outside my window.
I have been wanting to find this poem for some time: The River Merchant's Wife, translated by Ezra Pound:
| If you are coming down through the narrows of the river, | |
| Please let me know beforehand, | |
| And I will come out to meet you, As far as Cho-fu-Sa. From the Chinese of Li Po. |
1 comment:
Funny about the Susan stuff. My niece started life as a Susie. She hated it and we all had to stop. She demanded to be called Sue. We would catch ourselves at the Soooose part so she became Sues. Eventually she married a man whose last name started with a Q. Now at work they call her over the intercom and guess what? They call her Susie Q. It makes the rest of us chuckle and her blood boil!
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