Hot

It was hot in SF for a few days. I mean it's never really hot or even cold here. But it was a bit hot and all the heat rises up to my top floor apartment and my apartment is hot. I don't know why but when it's hot I can sleep. I closed my eyes, went right to sleep and woke up five hours later. So lovely. I can't reproduce it with heaters or blankets, which is why it's confusing. Anyway. I slept.
I succeeded in my goal to not finish the book. I was thinking about the connections in my reading. Gabrielle also has a problematic mother narrative. Allison Bechtel used traditional psychoanalytic theory and literature to structure her thinking about the mother/daughter dynamic. Jeannette Winterson used her adoptive mother/birth-mother story as the structure for her own. Gabrielle writes briefly about her mother's influence on her relationship with food and then half a book (and twenty years of her life) later she writes about a reunion. She writes about her internal process and and revelations. She dispatches the whole thing in what would constitute a chapter in either of the other books. Nuff said. Well I still have more book to read but I was struck by this very pragmatic, grounded transition from the adoration of a child to the tension of an adult and then the compartmentalization of it all. Nice. Tidy. Probably easier written and read than done. I've employed all of those strategies. And more.
When I was washing the dishes I noticed I was unconsciously letting the warm water run over my hands. I'm usually too concerned about water usage to do something like that. I realized that it felt good. So maybe there's something about warmth that is soothing my joints. I slept better when Mom was here and I always keep the apartment really warm for her.
It cooled off today but the apartment is still warmish.
And I have more book.