Rather high
Saturday December 20th 2014, 11:35 am
Filed under: himself Tags:

Bouncing off the ceiling and the sky. I’m sure I’ll come crashing down in ten or fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty. I very much lack the words for this. Anticipation is very much not the word of the day, and neither the number 7 nor the letter P, nor that black, green, and red liberation jumpsuit that I’ve been saving for just this moment, quite get at the heart of the matter.

Sunday December 14th 2014, 2:35 pm
Filed under: can't make that shit up,himself Tags:

(in the spirit of that whole mouse/cookie book).

If you give a car a carwash, then you have no excuse not to install the car seat. If you install the car seat, there is nothing standing between you and the impossibility that is a week from tomorrow.

I’m fucking terrified to get my car washed. I’d much rather give a mouse a cookie.

Saturday December 06th 2014, 11:59 pm
Filed under: Boozy,himself,nextish Tags:

Mostly there. A mostly full glass (which I’ll likely regret tomorrow, as rye whiskey is rarely meant to fill a large glass). A mostly sorted room, only pictures to be hung and mobiles to be shortened (thanks Yuko!) and curtain pulls to be attached. A mostly clear calendar – 3 essays to edit, 1 to peer review, 1 rec letter to write, and bits and bobs of work to do to prepare for a time after I’m stupid. An oil change, a side view mirror to replace, a car seat to install.

This is trivial shit, beneath me. The steady stream of friends indistinguishable from a steady stream of goodbye-for-nows. The student, there since the beginning, finishing and submitting on Tuesday, bringing me back to my own Tuesday, my own waking-up-hungover-on-a-table in Oxford (Boar Hill) viva, or the boa-strewn bus back submission. So odd a witness to that is a half mile away, living her radically different life. Or that I’ve found another complicated gay (!) Brazilian.

Mostly there. Keenly attuned to the endings that attend the beginnings, though they won’t be quite as ended as all that. We have ways, you see. We’ve always had ways. Maybe means.

Book to write. Person to point in the right directions. Students to inspire/larn’, sinking ship to represent. Black lives matter. How to take the rage and the fury and the grief, and help him turn them into something new, better. How to let him be himself. And they say I’m self obsessed…..