(no subject)
There's a panel of foil propped against the toaster at an angle. I was making tea this morning when I heard a sound coming from that foil. "What's that?" I wondered, and turned to stare quietly and without moving. Sometimes I think I hear sounds, like glass clinking, footsteps, even voices, but I can't tell from where. It always happens when I'm alone. I was beginning to think I had imagined this supposedly real sound after I couldn't hear it while looking at the foil for a bit, but then a small fly landed on it, crawled along the edge, and then hid itself on the underside. I reached over and lightly tapped the foil and there I heard it! The panicked fly was bouncing against the sides of the foil wall to get away. The thought of the fly's terror made me grin. I hate flies, after all, and hearing one suffer brings me joy.
Yesterday as I was returning to my hovel after an outing, the purpose of which was to get my circulation going so that by the time I got back into the apartment I might be fooled into thinking it warm, I saw a little boy hopping ahead of his parents. He was singing the Oompa Loompa song, the real one, from the real Willy Wonka movie, and his mother was singing it, too! It was a cute moment and my heart melted for just a second before freezing up again.
I think I've found my ideal sleeping schedule, for this time of year, anyway. If I go to bed at 12 am I can wake up naturally at almost exactly 6:30 am. I probably couldn't do this every day, but it would be a good way to make the most of my weekend hours, which are always the wrong length for me. Some weekends, when I'm going through my hormonal shift (I don't really know what it is. I've heard it called manstruating, which is delightful!), and accidentally knocking something off my crammed desk sends me into silent rages, the hours stretch. It's always the least pleasant hours that seem to take prominence in my life. Then, when the weather's just right, the birds are singing at just the right volume, my head isn't hurting, and I've had a life-affirming dream, entire hours disappear from the day, and suddenly it goes from 10 am to 5 pm. G-d probably hates me. He probably hates a lot of people, and I don't blame him.
Last night I was thinking about Monday, but for the first time I wasn't thinking about rebate applications; instead I was thinking about jury duty. The more I think about it, the more excited I get. The whole thing is completely new to me, and I'm looking forward to finding out what it's like. And maybe I can finally get this illiterate city to spell my name right. Do you think it's funny that I call San Francisco illiterate? So do I. It's funny because it's sort of true. Just go to www.sfgate.com for daily examples.
OK, fine, San Francisco isn't really illiterate. What I meant is that it's sloppy. When the public library has a section for "forgein languages" one wonders, no? If the library, a place (supposedly) for literature, can't get its signs right, what does that say? Actually, the public library here is disgusting. Of course everyone should have access to the library, but shouldn't there be a shower-before-you-browse policy? If you want to smell intense human stench, just take a trip to the San Francisco Public Library.
Yesterday as I was returning to my hovel after an outing, the purpose of which was to get my circulation going so that by the time I got back into the apartment I might be fooled into thinking it warm, I saw a little boy hopping ahead of his parents. He was singing the Oompa Loompa song, the real one, from the real Willy Wonka movie, and his mother was singing it, too! It was a cute moment and my heart melted for just a second before freezing up again.
I think I've found my ideal sleeping schedule, for this time of year, anyway. If I go to bed at 12 am I can wake up naturally at almost exactly 6:30 am. I probably couldn't do this every day, but it would be a good way to make the most of my weekend hours, which are always the wrong length for me. Some weekends, when I'm going through my hormonal shift (I don't really know what it is. I've heard it called manstruating, which is delightful!), and accidentally knocking something off my crammed desk sends me into silent rages, the hours stretch. It's always the least pleasant hours that seem to take prominence in my life. Then, when the weather's just right, the birds are singing at just the right volume, my head isn't hurting, and I've had a life-affirming dream, entire hours disappear from the day, and suddenly it goes from 10 am to 5 pm. G-d probably hates me. He probably hates a lot of people, and I don't blame him.
Last night I was thinking about Monday, but for the first time I wasn't thinking about rebate applications; instead I was thinking about jury duty. The more I think about it, the more excited I get. The whole thing is completely new to me, and I'm looking forward to finding out what it's like. And maybe I can finally get this illiterate city to spell my name right. Do you think it's funny that I call San Francisco illiterate? So do I. It's funny because it's sort of true. Just go to www.sfgate.com for daily examples.
OK, fine, San Francisco isn't really illiterate. What I meant is that it's sloppy. When the public library has a section for "forgein languages" one wonders, no? If the library, a place (supposedly) for literature, can't get its signs right, what does that say? Actually, the public library here is disgusting. Of course everyone should have access to the library, but shouldn't there be a shower-before-you-browse policy? If you want to smell intense human stench, just take a trip to the San Francisco Public Library.