and death i think is no parenthesis

so. last week, I did this High Fidelity deal, and talked to a few of the ex boys. Actually, 2. Most importantly, I talked to Dave...for really the first time. And I was mostly honest with him, and asked him the 3 or 4 questions that have really been bugging me about us, and about our brokenness, and we had this great conversation. And we decided that we were friends again. And he said that next time he was in town for the weekend, he'd give me a call and we could get together in person and talk. And I believed him, I really did. And I was wicked happy about it too. Not because I still hope for some sort of romance with him...because I don't, not really. And not because I want some sort of romance with him...because I don't, don't worry. Just because he was one of my very best friends for about 4 years, even before we dated and shit, and because I still miss him.
So when I find out that he's in town, that he had some sort of party that I wasn't invited to (not that that's the huge deal...his newer group of friends, that i never liked and who never liked me.)...but mostly that he didn't call me, or let me know that he was coming back or anything. I feel let down. I am also suspicious that this is just another symptom of the always-too-busyness of his. I just can't believe that he really is such a bastard as to convince me of his sincerity regarding us being able to be friends, and talking sometime, and then not mean it.

But oh well.

Good news? Babysitting was a lot of fun tonight...inspired by Garp's attraction to babysitters, I contemplated an affair with the father...it was fun. not, by the way, that I would ever in a million years do anything like that.

More good news? Had a nice conversation with the not!boy. Who, by the way, is definitely not to worry about all these other men I'm talking about. (he knows he's the one and only not!boy)
Anyway. Night time, bed time.

I am in the middle of The World According to Garp. Actually, I am at the end of it. The last 50 pages. Last week, I read A Widow For One Year. Last year, actually, 2 years ago now, I read A Prayer for Owen Meany. Prayer was good. It was absorbing, and in english class, I had a blast deciphering the symbolism, and doing all the other things you do to books in english class. It was a good book, and I made a mental note to read more by Irving.
This spring, we went to see some movie, I think it was The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (which I enjoyed), and there was a preview for The Door in the Floor, which is an adaptation of the very first bit of Widow For One Year. It looked interesting...I put a star next Irving, Widow for One Year, in my mental checklist of books to read.
Early this summer, the not!boy read Widow, and recommended it. (he liked the sex) I pushed Widow up my list, displacing a Kingsolver book, some Margaret Atwood, The Tempest, and Bel Canto. I read Widow in about 2 days, and loved it. I was a little bit shocked by all the sex, and felt almost like I should be ashamed of reading something that explicit, despite Irving's obvious literary qualifications.
I told my dad that I'd read it, and he told me to read The World According to Garp. Which I'm doing. Today it made me cry.
Irving is amazing. His books are so long...not just in number of pages, but in scope. They are about a life...and they seem, while I read them, to be covering a lifetime. And in the same way that my own early childhood already seems to belong to a different person, the beginnings of Irving's books seem to be different novels than the ending. The people grow up, in the same way that I am.
He makes me want to write. Not just post in my blog, or write papers, but to write. This year in school kind of suppressed all of my writing instincts...not because I was too busy, although I was busy, but I think because of what we read. We read philosophy, and greek drama, and so on. This year's reading list was not comprised of books that are just supposed to be read. The books were written to be thought about, not just to be read. And I have no ideas that are so strong I need the world to think about them. I have a voice, as far as my writing goes. I have a voice, but nothing terribly interesting to say. And where Plato and Aristotle and Sophocles did not make me want to share my thoughts with others (they made me want to think...and think hard...but for myself, not for the world)...Irving makes me wish I could share.

But I'm not going to. I'm not ready. Instead, I'm going to go finish The World According to Garp, and then maybe I'm going to go upstairs and start another sewing project. And then I'm going to go to work. And that's just the way it's going to be.

ETA: When I said that the not!boy "liked the sex" in Widow for One Year, I did not mean that he liked JUST the sex. In his words, "I liked the fact that irving seems to be as obsessed with sexuality as myself". Just so we're all clear here.

Finally, it is clean(er).

First, I went through my drawers, and pulled about one whole laundry basket full of old clothes to donate (thus making room for all my newer clothes! thus clearing the floor off...for now!). And then I tidied. And finally took all of my CDs out of the shoebox I took to college with me, and put them into the rack. Hoorah!

Now, I'm going to go upstairs, possibly with my computer, and see if I can figure out what's what with the very old sewing machine. If I can figure it out, I'm going to learn how to sew. I am going to teach myself, obviously. Goal: To have made a skirt by the end of the year. :)

"Can't blame us, boys, and we all sighed for the dirty white noise" - Patty Larkin

So today it's going well. (I have still have the boys this afternoon though, and then sitting for sarah)

I sat for this little boy, chris, who is just barely, possibly two. Definitly no more than 24 months. But anyway. It was the first time he had been left alone with a babysitter (oh joy of joys for me) and he was so angry. He screamed and screamed. And by screamed, I don't mean the kind of loud crying that most two year olds treat me to. I mean ear-piercing screams. I walked him around the neighborhood (screaming) and then I walked him around the house (screaming). I tried to interest him in his toys (screaming) and his books (screaming). Then I sat down, with him in front of me, and burst into fake!tears. He looked at me, said, "It's okay", then screamed again. I sighed, and picked him up and settled him (still screaming) in my lap. He laid his head down on my shoulder, and put his arms around me, and stopped screaming, and started to cry. I rubbed his back and held him. Gradually, his cries quieted, until there were just occasional choking sobs. And then I looked down and he was asleep.

It had been a while since there was someone asleep in my arms. All of my kids last summer were too old for that, and this summer, they are all too stubborn, and kick if I try to hold them. But Chris fell asleep. And when he woke up, we took a walk, and watched some guy cut somebody's lawn, and said hello and goodbye to all the trucks we saw, and played with chalk. And life was good.

So I have snapped out of my bad mood!

The Cure: I gave in and helped myself to 2(!) more Margaret Atwood books to start reading. 1 of which I have NEVER read before. (I figured I really needed it)
I also have been FLOODED with calls to arms...I mean babysitting. I am booked up for this week, next week I'm going on vacation, and then it looks like slowly but surely my summer is filling up. Life is better.

(I feel good. I feel better now. I feel better than James Brown)

Now I am off to job number 2 today. Unfortunately, it's the boys...if there exists a margaret-atwood-buzz killer, they are it. But I'm not sure even they can defeat not 1, but 2! books. I am prepared!

Also, Alex, if you're reading this, I'm starting to get angsty about not being able to get in touch with you. Call me! Or I'll give up on scheduling a New York trip with you, and just go by myself (and my oma)!

yeah. it's a dandy warhols kinda week. (hint for understanding emma: when the dandy warhols come out, it's probably time to run for the tissues)

At the moment, my life kinda sucks. The perks of my week have been the little sewing parties I inspired...but I'm not even in the right sort of mood to really appreciate them. At least I made myself another cute bag. And a belt.

Other Perks: Watching Legally Blonde 2 with my parents. Because I love my parents, and I love that they watched that movie.
Listening to The New Amsterdams, Worse for the Wear. Awesome cd. If you visit their website, listen to the song on their intro page. From California. Very pretty. And addicting.
Wearing my pink hat today, with the pink and blue bag and belt I made myself, and my capris and blue shirt with the butterfly. Sometimes I need to match...I think it might be a control thing. I don't mind if the colors aren't exactly right, or whatever. I just need it.
Dusting the downstairs for my mother. Made me feel useful when I really needed it, and also gave me time to listen to music turned up.
Talking to my oma, who let me know that if I came and visited her, with or without boy, it would make her happy.

Not-Perks: general moodiness
work being so very awful
stressing out about money. again.
stressing out about using my time wisely. again.
getting myself addicted to Pyramids, because I don't want to do anything more productive.
not wanting to read anything at all, not even trash.
the sneakyness of the little boys, who manage to make me feel like a horrible person, and are the only people, children or adults, who have ever managed to make me really lose my temper.
the boy having fallen off the face of the earth.
my chapstick having fallen off the face of the earth, resulting in my dry lips.
the cut on the inside of my mouth that is driving me crazy
picking up Mod Ten again. Because I need that, really.
speaking of, not seeing dave for the few days he was home. just because once upon a time, he was one of my best friends. and because maybe we could have talked (now that I'm finally prepared to be reasonable). and because I don't want him to remember me that way.
having bitten all my nails
finally having to retire my glasses case, because it is dead. because I loved it.
having to buy a new band for my watch. because the one I have is so perfect...and getting so raggedy.
having work tomorrow, and having to go to bed.
not being able to go to spain this summer. and my family talking about going all together next year...which was kind of not the point. actually really not the point.
the high price of gasoline, which makes me unable to just drive around at night when I'm feeling angsty and not ready to go home like I did last year. (Thursday, July 10th, 2003)


"no more sitting around, thinking about your hair...because I must have a door in the back of my head. yeah, I got a beautiful new asian girlfriend...she comes over and hangs around for days in my bed. yeah, you can't seriously believe I'm thinking about you, man. because I must have a door in the back of my head...where I can dump out all the crap so I can just feel solid again...yeah."

I feel like my life is deteriorating. I get all my major news from Metaquotes. That strikes me as wrong.

So. Did you know that Ray Charles died yesterday?

It's been a really long time since my last blog. Possibly this is because my life is either boring, or maybe it's just that I haven't been in any sort of writing mood. Oh, summer.

Babysitting continues to be awful...but that's okay.
I miss school muchly...I even miss homework and seminar reading.
Despite that, I've been having fun hanging out with the girls, and occasional boys, and just wish that our schedules weren't so clashing, so we could get together more. And play mah jongg. Because that's what makes me happy, silly.

I made myself a bag, and that makes me happy. It's not pretty, and the colors are awful, because I just ripped up two old shirts I had, and they happened to be black and bright red...which will clash with just about anything I'm wearing. But that's okay, I love it anyway. Because I designed it myself, so it has pockets for the things I needed pockets for, and it's big enough to carry a fair sized book in...the important things of life.

I've been reading this particularly awesome series of silly historical romances (the good kind, not the trash kind. but still not exactly high class literature. but fun)...and it was great, until I got to the present book. It's about this 33 year old Lord Someone-or-other (who by the way, is cursed with great looks) and his 18 year old ward, who he rescued from the gypsies 10 years ago, and has raised ever since. So far, so good. Problem: They're falling in love. And I've read about 10 of these books, and I know the signs...they are meant to be. So they're going to realize it, and get married, after having some hair-raising adventures, probably with Jacobite traitors. My problem with this: She calls him Papa a few times in the beginning. This is so gross! SO GROSS. Knowing the author, I'm sure she's going to deal with it...but at the moment I really have my doubts. I mean, yuck. I'll keep you posted.

In other news, little!Laura is graduating tonight! CONGRATULATIONS!