(no subject)
what, if anything, is there that a novelist can say about his work that wouldn't be better left to the critics? they at least have the advantage of dealing with the words on the page, while for him the task of accounting for the process involved in putting them there is similar to that of commanding a smoky genie to make an orderly retreat - not simply back into the traditional bottle, but into the ribbon and keys of a by now defunct typewriter. i walk into my room and i feel like a visitor. i have taken up residence in my mom's room for the past few days because they are out of town and have a comfortable bed. there is a west wing marathon on and i have decided that i want to be whoever toby is whenever i happen to finally grow up. it took me half an hour to get the temperature of my brother's canned soup correct. my cat is adorable and (note to self) does not enjoy being bothered while sleeping. the invisible man by ralph ellison happens to be a phenomenal book. i'm torn between reading it and watching what i have recently decided will be my future career. there's this bouncy ball in here that i'm quite taken with. for dinner i ate half a loaf of french bread with oil and garlic; my appetizer was a bagel with strawberry cream cheese. i miss my mom and today is her 50th birthday. i haven't spoken to my dad in 2-3 months and he called and left me a message this morning. i have this fetish for other people's water glasses. i suppose it's not so much a fetish and is more or less a strange attraction. don't ever leave your water near me. this afternoon nick and i washed my car and, just to be nice, my dad's car which was, but is no longer, an insect cemetery. maybe i should be whoever donna is. or perhaps CJ. there's this boy i know who enjoys talking about himself more than your average person enjoys a good breath of fresh air. he's annoying, needless to say. has kerry annoucned his VP candidate yet? school is almost over and i'm not going in tomorrow. i want to be here when my mom gets home and i need to finish my anatomy project on panic disorder. my brother is a goob and will grow up while i am in college. he will be entering high school in the same year i leave college and enter the real world. or the white house. whichever. i have a teddy bear that i've slept with and been sick with and loved since i was born almost 17 years ago. she's never been washed because i have a deep seeded fear that her head will pop off. i love my teddy. my cats foot is fine and i no longer feel like a cat abuser and am, again, a self-proclaimed cat lover. i need to lose some weight by the time summer finally rolls around. i'm nauseous from my prison dinner. my cat is chewing on my anatomy project. i have to go now.