Yesterday when I was trying to read I was overcome with sleepiness. It happens sometimes. My favorite reading chair is in a window through which sun often floods. I get sun woozy and close my eyes. I am neither awake nor asleep. I drift until suddenly, often in five or ten minutes, I pop up like cork. Yesterday was different. I slept deeply and, although I'm not exactly sure how long, for more than an hour. I woke up around 11:00.
A minute ago (it feels like a minute ago) I wrote a post about morning reading. I'd taken to reading on mornings when I wasn't going swimming and I really enjoyed it. It felt indulgent and luxurious. Now every day is a day that I don't go swimming. After a week or so of morning reading that stretched into afternoon reading, I realized the days were losing shape. I started having breakfast, doing the yoga/bike wheels, taking a shower and getting dressed. Then I settle into the chair and read. Often I split my breakfast into parts. This morning I had cereal and milk. Did all the things. Made a cup of coffee. Got a slice of cranberry bread and then settled in.
It didn't make sense that I was so tired yesterday. I'd slept well. 11:00 is when I have been stopping the reading to post my poem fragment, check email and the like. But I really wanted to read! I kept trying to believe that it didn't matter if I posted at 11:00. I could read for awhile. All scheduling is arbitrary. But I could not concentrate.
I have a bunch of pillows on my bed. It a long silly story. They are decorative. My bed is adjustable so I am never propped up on them. In the evening I take them off and pile them up beside the bed and after the yoga/bike wheels I put them all back on the bed. It takes (maybe) two minutes. When the morning reading stretched into afternoon I often didn't put them back. It didn't seem to matter. Even when I changed my current rhythm (because that's what it is) (rhythm) I wasn't putting the pillows up. One day I looked at the pile and ... just put them up. When I walk down the hall during the day and see them they look pretty and I feel happy.
Before the virus my days were somewhat fluid. But there are these little demarcations. Oh it's time for Chris Hayes and Rachel. Time to put on the PJ's and get whatever I'm going to eat and get in front of the television. Oh it's time to move from the living room to the library and read or watch something fun. I check my watch all the time. As if it matters.
I have long believed that these little rituals that shape our day give us a kind of continuity. Some times it's good to ignore them. Take a break. But the structure of a given day gives us (or at least me) an unconscious comfort.
I feel relentlessly distracted. Always. But particularly right now. There is something nagging in the back of my mind. Something I can't quite track. Because there is no track. We are all wandering in the land of uncertainty.
Taking a shower. Pillows on the bed. Pajamas and the news. It all matters.
Monday, April 06, 2020
Tuesday, March 31, 2020
Poetry Month
Two years ago during National Poetry Month (aka April) I posted a fragment of poetry on Twitter every day. It was really fun. I got a lot of response, likes and shares. Maybe the best part was finding Sparrow on Twitter. We follow each other now, which thrills me. I chose somewhat well known poets and fragments that were somewhat recognizable.
Last year I tried again. I picked some what obscure poets and obscure lines and ... the response was tepid. I didn't even finish the month.
Recently, when I was looking for my Borges for a shelving issue, I thought I might do all Borges poems this year. Then came the virus. I spent some time looking for fragments (from anyone) about isolation and illness but I'm not up to it. So I'm back to Borges.
I don't think I'll be as aware of the response because, despite the fact that I have an entire book of his poems, I'm not that familiar with him. I don't really know if I can slice out thirty fragment that don't seem disembodied. And Borges could be kind of a snot. I think it will be fun.
Maybe.
I guess we'll see.
Last year I tried again. I picked some what obscure poets and obscure lines and ... the response was tepid. I didn't even finish the month.
Recently, when I was looking for my Borges for a shelving issue, I thought I might do all Borges poems this year. Then came the virus. I spent some time looking for fragments (from anyone) about isolation and illness but I'm not up to it. So I'm back to Borges.
I don't think I'll be as aware of the response because, despite the fact that I have an entire book of his poems, I'm not that familiar with him. I don't really know if I can slice out thirty fragment that don't seem disembodied. And Borges could be kind of a snot. I think it will be fun.
Maybe.
I guess we'll see.
Sunday, March 29, 2020
Listen
I want to be the person you come to when you're sad and you don't really want to cheer up. I try to just be present. Listen. The same with anger. If you need to vent I want to be the person who can just listen.
Sadness can become an attention getting device and anger can be abusive. I know that. I'm not trying to be a dumping ground. I just feel like it's important to feel through all the feelings we have.
Fear is different. I still try to listen and allow some space but fear is like a room full of fun house mirrors. Things become distorted. If I can shift a perception back to something more grounded I will try.
I don't feel a need to be positive but I've been trying to post things on Facebook that are resources or performances or funny. I don't usually do a lot of re-posting. No reason. I just figure people see things. Facebook and Twitter are swamped with fear at the moment. Of course they are.
I was oddly comforted hearing more than a few health professionals say that they didn't know things. Comforted because that's what feels true. It's the hardest thing. All the things we don't know. And all the things that keep changing. I read, or heard that masks weren't effective and because of the shortages in hospitals we shouldn't be wearing them. Now I'm hearing that even a homemade mask might help if only to stop the spread. And that makes sense. I touch my face all the time. I don't know if I always did and am just more aware of it now but it's crazy. If you have a mask on and you touch your face you minimize exposure. Not when your home but when you go out. I don't actually have a mask but I don't go out.
There was a video in which a doctor was giving advice about how to sanitize groceries. A day or so later there was a long post from a food scientist debunking lots of it. The one that stood out to me is not to wash your apples with soap. Because if you don't get soap rinsed off well enough you might have intestinal problems. All of the information about surfaces had me spinning out. Now I think it's probably OK if you wash your hands. There's lots of talk about how effective hand washing is. In any case it is a thing you can actually do.
This morning I read a post from a doctor describing how easy it is to pass the virus. This afternoon I heard a doctor saying you don't have to be too afraid to go to the store or see people. The shifts of opinions might be inevitable. I just know they have been winding me up from time to time.
The basics always apply. Distance. Try not to touch your face. Wash your hands. Keep your social circle small.
I'm not really having a lot of trouble with fear. I am in my nest with my books. There are cases in the area around me but not many. Certainly not as many as in New York, New Orleans or Italy. I do listen to a certain amount of news and troll Facebook and Twitter. But I'm keeping all of that down as well. Because this fear is hard to sort. It's very real. It is also subject to distortion.
Sometimes I think we confuse fear with sadness. We don't want to feel the overwhelming sadness that comes from knowing that so many people are dying and so many are sick. We don't want to feel the anger of knowing that doctors and nurses don't have the equipment they need. We feel the lack of control and agency. Fear becomes a default.
I will always listen.
It's all I have to give.
Sadness can become an attention getting device and anger can be abusive. I know that. I'm not trying to be a dumping ground. I just feel like it's important to feel through all the feelings we have.
Fear is different. I still try to listen and allow some space but fear is like a room full of fun house mirrors. Things become distorted. If I can shift a perception back to something more grounded I will try.
I don't feel a need to be positive but I've been trying to post things on Facebook that are resources or performances or funny. I don't usually do a lot of re-posting. No reason. I just figure people see things. Facebook and Twitter are swamped with fear at the moment. Of course they are.
I was oddly comforted hearing more than a few health professionals say that they didn't know things. Comforted because that's what feels true. It's the hardest thing. All the things we don't know. And all the things that keep changing. I read, or heard that masks weren't effective and because of the shortages in hospitals we shouldn't be wearing them. Now I'm hearing that even a homemade mask might help if only to stop the spread. And that makes sense. I touch my face all the time. I don't know if I always did and am just more aware of it now but it's crazy. If you have a mask on and you touch your face you minimize exposure. Not when your home but when you go out. I don't actually have a mask but I don't go out.
There was a video in which a doctor was giving advice about how to sanitize groceries. A day or so later there was a long post from a food scientist debunking lots of it. The one that stood out to me is not to wash your apples with soap. Because if you don't get soap rinsed off well enough you might have intestinal problems. All of the information about surfaces had me spinning out. Now I think it's probably OK if you wash your hands. There's lots of talk about how effective hand washing is. In any case it is a thing you can actually do.
This morning I read a post from a doctor describing how easy it is to pass the virus. This afternoon I heard a doctor saying you don't have to be too afraid to go to the store or see people. The shifts of opinions might be inevitable. I just know they have been winding me up from time to time.
The basics always apply. Distance. Try not to touch your face. Wash your hands. Keep your social circle small.
I'm not really having a lot of trouble with fear. I am in my nest with my books. There are cases in the area around me but not many. Certainly not as many as in New York, New Orleans or Italy. I do listen to a certain amount of news and troll Facebook and Twitter. But I'm keeping all of that down as well. Because this fear is hard to sort. It's very real. It is also subject to distortion.
Sometimes I think we confuse fear with sadness. We don't want to feel the overwhelming sadness that comes from knowing that so many people are dying and so many are sick. We don't want to feel the anger of knowing that doctors and nurses don't have the equipment they need. We feel the lack of control and agency. Fear becomes a default.
I will always listen.
It's all I have to give.
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Isolation
I spend a lot of time alone. It's always been true. The mommie and I lived with her parents. I'm not really sure how old they were when we moved in but they must have been in their late fifties or early sixties. The mommie went to work all day. There were a few aunts, uncles and cousins around but not many. I never really had a lot of friends. I spent a lot of time reading or playing with my dolls. I day dreamed.
I was socially active as a young adult but I still did things alone a lot. I liked to go out alone. I ate out alone. I went to movies alone. This was often a choice.
In my late twenties and early thirties I had a lot of friends. I lived in Boulder. I worked at a diner where I met people. It was possible at that time to walk to the mall or a restaurant or a bar and run into people. I still lived alone but I was around people most of the time. And. So. Then. I moved to NYC.
One of my favorite parts of living in the city was the anonymity. No matter where I went I did not know anyone. Well actually I did see someone from Boulder on the subways steps once. And I had a bar where I drank. and a few friends. But I was alone more often and I found that in gave me space to grow internally. Less input.
Restaurant work means you know people and are with people. Restaurant crews develop tight bonds because of the nature of the work. For most of my adult working life I was around people and had friends. I made friends easily.
The last years in SF were more isolated. I was out of work and had lost some physical mobility. People just weren't around as much. I still had friends and great neighbors but I was back to being alone.
I really like people. I want to be around them. I love conversations. Long conversations. Deep conversations. But I'm comfortable with a lot of time alone.
So this social isolation thing.
No.
Big
Deal.
Except ... for the ... fear and loathing.
I have a lot of the symptoms of the virus most of the time. I wake up with a sore throat often. I drink water and it's gone. I am stuffy or have a runny nose in the morning. It mostly settles down. I've had a weird hacky cough for months now. Very random. My joints ache. I get really hot usually in the late afternoon or early evening. I talked to my doctor about it. It's residual menopause. I do not have a fever. I just checked. It's 96. something. It's always a little low.
The fear and loathing builds through the day. Too much information. Too many unknowns. By the end of the day I'm a little freaked out. Then I wake up with a stuffy nose and fumble through the morning and the day.
I am a very lucky person. I have a beautiful nest. I have a LOT of books. I have a refrigerator full of good food. Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, PBS. And I have wonderful friends. I have been saying I'm not worried. I'm a little worried now. Not that I'll get sick and die (I might) (but I don't think I will) but that the unknowns are going to be relentlessly bad.
In my little city restaurants that were trying to do take out and delivery are closing. Not all of them but it seems like a new one closes every day. Oak street is quiet. The parks are closed. The schools are closed.
But for the moment. There are trees are budding just out side of my window. The sun is shining. I've had some lovely long distant phone calls in the past few days.
I'm going to make some tea and eat a cookie and read my book. Pretty much life like it always is.
I was socially active as a young adult but I still did things alone a lot. I liked to go out alone. I ate out alone. I went to movies alone. This was often a choice.
In my late twenties and early thirties I had a lot of friends. I lived in Boulder. I worked at a diner where I met people. It was possible at that time to walk to the mall or a restaurant or a bar and run into people. I still lived alone but I was around people most of the time. And. So. Then. I moved to NYC.
One of my favorite parts of living in the city was the anonymity. No matter where I went I did not know anyone. Well actually I did see someone from Boulder on the subways steps once. And I had a bar where I drank. and a few friends. But I was alone more often and I found that in gave me space to grow internally. Less input.
Restaurant work means you know people and are with people. Restaurant crews develop tight bonds because of the nature of the work. For most of my adult working life I was around people and had friends. I made friends easily.
The last years in SF were more isolated. I was out of work and had lost some physical mobility. People just weren't around as much. I still had friends and great neighbors but I was back to being alone.
I really like people. I want to be around them. I love conversations. Long conversations. Deep conversations. But I'm comfortable with a lot of time alone.
So this social isolation thing.
No.
Big
Deal.
Except ... for the ... fear and loathing.
I have a lot of the symptoms of the virus most of the time. I wake up with a sore throat often. I drink water and it's gone. I am stuffy or have a runny nose in the morning. It mostly settles down. I've had a weird hacky cough for months now. Very random. My joints ache. I get really hot usually in the late afternoon or early evening. I talked to my doctor about it. It's residual menopause. I do not have a fever. I just checked. It's 96. something. It's always a little low.
The fear and loathing builds through the day. Too much information. Too many unknowns. By the end of the day I'm a little freaked out. Then I wake up with a stuffy nose and fumble through the morning and the day.
I am a very lucky person. I have a beautiful nest. I have a LOT of books. I have a refrigerator full of good food. Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, PBS. And I have wonderful friends. I have been saying I'm not worried. I'm a little worried now. Not that I'll get sick and die (I might) (but I don't think I will) but that the unknowns are going to be relentlessly bad.
In my little city restaurants that were trying to do take out and delivery are closing. Not all of them but it seems like a new one closes every day. Oak street is quiet. The parks are closed. The schools are closed.
But for the moment. There are trees are budding just out side of my window. The sun is shining. I've had some lovely long distant phone calls in the past few days.
I'm going to make some tea and eat a cookie and read my book. Pretty much life like it always is.
Wednesday, March 11, 2020
My Vote
In 2000 I voted for Nader. It wasn't a particularly brave thing to do. I lived in California where Gore was going to win no matter what I did. Gore won the popular vote but not the electoral college because of ... Florida. That was the year the supreme court gave the presidency to Bush. People blamed Nader. Still do.
I'm not positive but I'm pretty sure the 1972 election was my first vote. I think a lot of people in my gen were devastated by the Nixon victory.
I was happy when I voted for Jimmy Carter. Happier when he won. And then there was Reagan. Right about then I stopped voting. I just stopped believing in the process or thinking that anything inside the beltway mattered in my life.
I went to an experimental high school in Maryland. It was a time of political awakening. I remember debates about whether the system could be saved or should be destroyed. Renny Davis debated our principal. I believed in Woodstock nation, Flower Power and the revolution.
I don't remember exactly when or where I was when I re-registered Democrat. It was because I wanted to vote in a primary but I don't remember why.
I was extremely happy voting for Clinton. I thought my generation had come to power and we were going to change everything. What a disappointment. Clinton moved the party to the right. Away from me. Gore wasn't engaging. Nader was thrilling.
I was never a fan of Hillary and had no trouble choosing Obama in that election. I remember voting early in the morning with a friend. Then she drove me to work, both of us giddy and also terrified.
He won.
He won.
And then he won again.
The next time Hillary ran I had no trouble voting for her. She was more qualified for the job than anybody, ever. I felt like she might have softened during the Obama years. I hoped she had.
I saw Sanders interviewed by Chris Mathews at some point during that election. I'm not a fan of Mathews but he is a political historian and has worked inside the Beltway. He asked how Sanders was going to get the votes for what he wanted to do. Bernie chortled and said Mathews just didn't understand what he was trying to do. Maybe not but he did understand how the system worked. He understood you needed to be able to get the votes.
The debates of my high school days are still in my mind. There is so much about our system that needs to change. And I'm still not sure how that can happen. It doesn't feel like it's going to happen quickly or without ... the votes.
Hillary won the popular vote. By a wide margin.
When are we going to get rid of the electoral college?
From the beginning of this primary I have been all in for Elizabeth Warren. She is progressive and she knows how to get the votes and get things done.
It is true that part of my Clinton vote and my desire for Warren is about me wanting there to be a woman president. I've been thinking about Margret Chase Smith. She was a Republican. I don't think she would have been today. I've been thinking about Shirley Chisholm and Geraldine Ferraro and even Sarah Palin. I wouldn't vote for a woman just because she was a woman.
Since Warren stepped out of the primary I've been torn up. It's not as simple as my candidate didn't win. It feels like something went terribly wrong. Sexism is part of it. Sexism is always part of it. But it was also about fear. In poll on electability last summer people were asked who they would vote for and they said Biden. Then there were asked if they could wave a magic wand and pick the president and they ALL said Warren. It's about fear.
And it's about money. Every time I saw a state where Bloomberg got more delegates than she did I blanched. He didn't even really campaign. He just spent a lot of money on commercials. And they were convincing. If you didn't know anything about him.
Sanders supporters who have never been kind to Warren are all in a huff because she hasn't endorsed. I find that stunning. Her endorsement means nothing to me. I don't want to vote for either one of the last two old white men. I don't think her endorsement would have made a difference to most people.
It's about fear.
It's about money.
It's about fear.
Bernie Sanders articulates the ideas that I love. I just don't believe he can get much done. I also think the noise about Socialism during the election would have been miserable. Unfair. But loud. Listening to the ladies in the pool discuss socialism makes me wince. At least one of them was going to vote for Warren but will not vote for Sanders. She's not thrilled with Biden either.
Biden makes me sad and tired. I'm hoping he'll realize that Sanders has twice built a massive coalition. Biden needs to welcome his ideas and incorporate them. I'm not hopeful.
It seems like Biden is the nominee but there is a small chance Sanders could win. Who ever wins should have a woman as a vice president. Which would not really make me happy and I do NOT want it to be Warren. It feels sour to me that another old white guy is behind the big desk. I don't really want a woman doing all the work behind him.
Politics is an argument. Many (maybe most) arguments have no resolution that feels good. A supervisor in SF once said that he felt happy after an agreement when no one was completely happy. Everyone got something but no one got it all.
When Oregon FINALLY primaries if Warren is on the ballot I will vote for her. If she's not on the ballot I will write her in. In the general I will vote for ... whoever wins. It will be a joyless vote but Trump needs to go away.
I'm not positive but I'm pretty sure the 1972 election was my first vote. I think a lot of people in my gen were devastated by the Nixon victory.
I was happy when I voted for Jimmy Carter. Happier when he won. And then there was Reagan. Right about then I stopped voting. I just stopped believing in the process or thinking that anything inside the beltway mattered in my life.
I went to an experimental high school in Maryland. It was a time of political awakening. I remember debates about whether the system could be saved or should be destroyed. Renny Davis debated our principal. I believed in Woodstock nation, Flower Power and the revolution.
I don't remember exactly when or where I was when I re-registered Democrat. It was because I wanted to vote in a primary but I don't remember why.
I was extremely happy voting for Clinton. I thought my generation had come to power and we were going to change everything. What a disappointment. Clinton moved the party to the right. Away from me. Gore wasn't engaging. Nader was thrilling.
I was never a fan of Hillary and had no trouble choosing Obama in that election. I remember voting early in the morning with a friend. Then she drove me to work, both of us giddy and also terrified.
He won.
He won.
And then he won again.
The next time Hillary ran I had no trouble voting for her. She was more qualified for the job than anybody, ever. I felt like she might have softened during the Obama years. I hoped she had.
I saw Sanders interviewed by Chris Mathews at some point during that election. I'm not a fan of Mathews but he is a political historian and has worked inside the Beltway. He asked how Sanders was going to get the votes for what he wanted to do. Bernie chortled and said Mathews just didn't understand what he was trying to do. Maybe not but he did understand how the system worked. He understood you needed to be able to get the votes.
The debates of my high school days are still in my mind. There is so much about our system that needs to change. And I'm still not sure how that can happen. It doesn't feel like it's going to happen quickly or without ... the votes.
Hillary won the popular vote. By a wide margin.
When are we going to get rid of the electoral college?
From the beginning of this primary I have been all in for Elizabeth Warren. She is progressive and she knows how to get the votes and get things done.
It is true that part of my Clinton vote and my desire for Warren is about me wanting there to be a woman president. I've been thinking about Margret Chase Smith. She was a Republican. I don't think she would have been today. I've been thinking about Shirley Chisholm and Geraldine Ferraro and even Sarah Palin. I wouldn't vote for a woman just because she was a woman.
Since Warren stepped out of the primary I've been torn up. It's not as simple as my candidate didn't win. It feels like something went terribly wrong. Sexism is part of it. Sexism is always part of it. But it was also about fear. In poll on electability last summer people were asked who they would vote for and they said Biden. Then there were asked if they could wave a magic wand and pick the president and they ALL said Warren. It's about fear.
And it's about money. Every time I saw a state where Bloomberg got more delegates than she did I blanched. He didn't even really campaign. He just spent a lot of money on commercials. And they were convincing. If you didn't know anything about him.
Sanders supporters who have never been kind to Warren are all in a huff because she hasn't endorsed. I find that stunning. Her endorsement means nothing to me. I don't want to vote for either one of the last two old white men. I don't think her endorsement would have made a difference to most people.
It's about fear.
It's about money.
It's about fear.
Bernie Sanders articulates the ideas that I love. I just don't believe he can get much done. I also think the noise about Socialism during the election would have been miserable. Unfair. But loud. Listening to the ladies in the pool discuss socialism makes me wince. At least one of them was going to vote for Warren but will not vote for Sanders. She's not thrilled with Biden either.
Biden makes me sad and tired. I'm hoping he'll realize that Sanders has twice built a massive coalition. Biden needs to welcome his ideas and incorporate them. I'm not hopeful.
It seems like Biden is the nominee but there is a small chance Sanders could win. Who ever wins should have a woman as a vice president. Which would not really make me happy and I do NOT want it to be Warren. It feels sour to me that another old white guy is behind the big desk. I don't really want a woman doing all the work behind him.
Politics is an argument. Many (maybe most) arguments have no resolution that feels good. A supervisor in SF once said that he felt happy after an agreement when no one was completely happy. Everyone got something but no one got it all.
When Oregon FINALLY primaries if Warren is on the ballot I will vote for her. If she's not on the ballot I will write her in. In the general I will vote for ... whoever wins. It will be a joyless vote but Trump needs to go away.
Saturday, February 15, 2020
Doughnuts
The other day I wanted doughnuts. I wanted a box of doughnuts. I wanted to eat a box of doughnuts and watch TV.
When I was a preteen the mommie, K and I used to stop at Dunkin Doughnuts and go to a friend's house. Actually it was a couple who were the mommie and K's friends. They had a daughter who was my age (I think). I don't think we actually liked each other that much. We'd go to her room. Eat a lot of doughnuts. I think she wanted to watch something like the Twilight Zone. Something that freaked me out. My memories are vague about everything but the doughnuts. They made me sick. Every time. I'd be sick in the car on the way home. It was decades before I wanted another doughnut.
When I worked at EA we had doughnuts every other week. Not just any old doughnut. Krispy Kremes. Probably fresh ones considering how close we were to the factory. At first I didn't participate but I was curious about the famous doughnuts. Eventually I tried a glazed. It was good. And I didn't get sick. Then I tried a jelly. Then I started taking a glazed and a jelly. I was all in.
One day when I went for a break there were still doughnuts on the table. I looked both ways and then superstitiously grabbed a third. Went out to the balcony and ate it as fast as I could. I wasn't sure what I was worried about. I ate forbidden (for fat people) foods in public all the time. But I felt like doughnuts were ... trashy. I had no idea where that thought came from or that I had it in me but there it was.
I just finished Heavy by Kiese Laymon. Fierce. Relentless. Chronicling his life growing up in Mississippi. There is so much in the book it's hard to narrow what it's about but he is fat and that is my theme. At one point he is on his own. Away from the people who tell him he needs to lose weight. He goes to one of those restaurants where they sell big breakfast specials and eats a long list of foods. Then he goes to Dunkin Doughnuts and gets a box. He writes that he felt free. I felt that in my bones.
When you're a fat kid everyone has something to say about what you eat. Doctors, teachers, parents, grandparents. other kids. You often feel monitored. I never did a lot of secret eating but I have had moments like that one on the balcony. I'm always confounded by the ideas we have about food. Most of all why we care what anyone else thinks about what we eat.
My ageing digestive system would never deal with a box of doughnuts. Not the amount. Not the sugar/carb combo. My system would punish me for days.
That night DeAnna walked in with a big pink VooDoo doughnut box. It was like she had read my mind. There were only two in the box but VooDoo doughnuts are huge. One had coconut on top, which made me so happy. I enjoyed every bite. The second was chocolate and peanut butter and Oreos. I picked off the Oreos so I could eat more of the doughnut.
After a day of wanting them there they were and they were good. I did't get sick. Well. Maybe a little belly ache but not too bad.
When I was a preteen the mommie, K and I used to stop at Dunkin Doughnuts and go to a friend's house. Actually it was a couple who were the mommie and K's friends. They had a daughter who was my age (I think). I don't think we actually liked each other that much. We'd go to her room. Eat a lot of doughnuts. I think she wanted to watch something like the Twilight Zone. Something that freaked me out. My memories are vague about everything but the doughnuts. They made me sick. Every time. I'd be sick in the car on the way home. It was decades before I wanted another doughnut.
When I worked at EA we had doughnuts every other week. Not just any old doughnut. Krispy Kremes. Probably fresh ones considering how close we were to the factory. At first I didn't participate but I was curious about the famous doughnuts. Eventually I tried a glazed. It was good. And I didn't get sick. Then I tried a jelly. Then I started taking a glazed and a jelly. I was all in.
One day when I went for a break there were still doughnuts on the table. I looked both ways and then superstitiously grabbed a third. Went out to the balcony and ate it as fast as I could. I wasn't sure what I was worried about. I ate forbidden (for fat people) foods in public all the time. But I felt like doughnuts were ... trashy. I had no idea where that thought came from or that I had it in me but there it was.
I just finished Heavy by Kiese Laymon. Fierce. Relentless. Chronicling his life growing up in Mississippi. There is so much in the book it's hard to narrow what it's about but he is fat and that is my theme. At one point he is on his own. Away from the people who tell him he needs to lose weight. He goes to one of those restaurants where they sell big breakfast specials and eats a long list of foods. Then he goes to Dunkin Doughnuts and gets a box. He writes that he felt free. I felt that in my bones.
When you're a fat kid everyone has something to say about what you eat. Doctors, teachers, parents, grandparents. other kids. You often feel monitored. I never did a lot of secret eating but I have had moments like that one on the balcony. I'm always confounded by the ideas we have about food. Most of all why we care what anyone else thinks about what we eat.
My ageing digestive system would never deal with a box of doughnuts. Not the amount. Not the sugar/carb combo. My system would punish me for days.
That night DeAnna walked in with a big pink VooDoo doughnut box. It was like she had read my mind. There were only two in the box but VooDoo doughnuts are huge. One had coconut on top, which made me so happy. I enjoyed every bite. The second was chocolate and peanut butter and Oreos. I picked off the Oreos so I could eat more of the doughnut.
After a day of wanting them there they were and they were good. I did't get sick. Well. Maybe a little belly ache but not too bad.
Sunday, February 09, 2020
Morning Reading
We had a snowy week. Only one day was bad enough to stay home but I'm always worried about falling so I stayed home the whole week. I'd eat breakfast and then take my coffee, sit in my recliner by the window, pull on the purple throw and read.
In the past I have turned on the news and the computer first thing and preformed a simulacra of working. I usually read in the afternoon and/or evenings. Morning reading feels decadent. Luxurious. I have no where else to be. There are things I could be doing. Dusting the never ending dust, emptying the drier, watering the plants, writing a blog post. Writing anything. But no. I sit with my legs up turning pages and feeling like I am doing exactly what I need to be doing.
After the snow week the morning reading has continued on the days I don't swim. Swimming is the only thing I'd rather be doing.
I blazed through seven novels and a book of essays and I loved all of them. Reading so many books in a row like that can be tricky. A writing style that you love one day feels hollow in comparison to another that you just loved.
I took a class on women writers of the southern cone years ago. We read Of Love and Shadow by Allende right after Mothers and Shadows by Marta Traba. I like Allende very much and have read many of her books. But following Traba's much sleeker and more devastating prose the Allende read like a romance novel. I feel like I would have liked it better if I'd read it first. The Traba tore me open. I'm not sure any writing would have felt real after that.
I just finished another book of essays. This one by Vivian Gornick. The book is about rereading but as with all Gornick it's really about everything. There was an essay about this problem of reading when you aren't open to the writing and then rereading. She mentions a reviewer who had given a book a bad review and then reread it at a later date and loved it. One of the reasons I don't read or write many reviews is the fluidity of affection.
I bought books specifically because I want to reread them. Books that I read when I was younger. I spent the summer between my junior and senior high school year reading Dostoevsky. I'm sure I would get so much more out of those books if I reread them now. I started to buy all of the Anais Njn diaries but hesitated because I doubted I'd get through them ... again. I'd like to reread all of the Little House books. DH Lawrence. Lawernce Durrell. Collette. Jung.
Years ago I was house sitting for a friend who had all of the Herman Hesse books. I had read them all in high school and loved them dearly. They were pivotal in terms of how I saw the world. I tried to reread them and found them horrible. But I wonder if I might try again and ... fall back in love.
There are just so many new books. And I'm always seeing more. It's quite overwhelming. I am a slow reader. I often need to read sentences and paragraphs two or three times. I may have dyslexia. Or I may just not be able to concentrate.
OK.
So.
Back to the book.
In the past I have turned on the news and the computer first thing and preformed a simulacra of working. I usually read in the afternoon and/or evenings. Morning reading feels decadent. Luxurious. I have no where else to be. There are things I could be doing. Dusting the never ending dust, emptying the drier, watering the plants, writing a blog post. Writing anything. But no. I sit with my legs up turning pages and feeling like I am doing exactly what I need to be doing.
After the snow week the morning reading has continued on the days I don't swim. Swimming is the only thing I'd rather be doing.
I blazed through seven novels and a book of essays and I loved all of them. Reading so many books in a row like that can be tricky. A writing style that you love one day feels hollow in comparison to another that you just loved.
I took a class on women writers of the southern cone years ago. We read Of Love and Shadow by Allende right after Mothers and Shadows by Marta Traba. I like Allende very much and have read many of her books. But following Traba's much sleeker and more devastating prose the Allende read like a romance novel. I feel like I would have liked it better if I'd read it first. The Traba tore me open. I'm not sure any writing would have felt real after that.
I just finished another book of essays. This one by Vivian Gornick. The book is about rereading but as with all Gornick it's really about everything. There was an essay about this problem of reading when you aren't open to the writing and then rereading. She mentions a reviewer who had given a book a bad review and then reread it at a later date and loved it. One of the reasons I don't read or write many reviews is the fluidity of affection.
I bought books specifically because I want to reread them. Books that I read when I was younger. I spent the summer between my junior and senior high school year reading Dostoevsky. I'm sure I would get so much more out of those books if I reread them now. I started to buy all of the Anais Njn diaries but hesitated because I doubted I'd get through them ... again. I'd like to reread all of the Little House books. DH Lawrence. Lawernce Durrell. Collette. Jung.
Years ago I was house sitting for a friend who had all of the Herman Hesse books. I had read them all in high school and loved them dearly. They were pivotal in terms of how I saw the world. I tried to reread them and found them horrible. But I wonder if I might try again and ... fall back in love.
There are just so many new books. And I'm always seeing more. It's quite overwhelming. I am a slow reader. I often need to read sentences and paragraphs two or three times. I may have dyslexia. Or I may just not be able to concentrate.
OK.
So.
Back to the book.
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