Near spring, subconscious rumbles like crocus bulbs
I've been having such amazing dreams, full of fresh new perspectives and people and situations, that I really wish I could remember them for more than those bleary half-seconds upon first waking. Today I have one: the last dream I had was of a baby boy. He was very young, practically newborn. I was clasping him to my shoulder with delight and love; right before I woke, I was changing his diaper. He was smeared with greenish shit up past his waist, and wriggling while I tried to remove the diaper. He was talking, making exclamations of dismay at how roughly I was handling him. I think his judgment made me a little nervous and defensive, and I pressed him harder while trying to clean him up.
Got some stuff from Amazon that I ordered: a DVD of All About My Mother, one of my favorite movies and inexplicably not available from Netflix. Nourishing Traditions, a bible of the Weston A. Price set, and one I've been meaning to get and read for a long time. Overqualified, a book of cover letters written (and actually sent) by Joey Comeau, who reveals himself to be a sentimental and hilariously funny individual. He draws a web comic called Pictures for Sad Children and is a buddy of Ryan North, who draws Dinosaur Comics. I found the book because Ryan plugged it in his Dinosaurs email.
Have the day off: Kevin and I are heading to the Boston area for the weekend to visit friends. I'm baking a cake to bring. When it gets out of the oven, I will return my library books. The Invention of Air, about Joseph Priestley, a contemporary of our founding fathers who simultaneously invented chemistry and believed in phlogiston. These are the people the steampunks are intrigued by. Computer programming is the new gentleman's science, practicable in an ordinary household laboratory. Oryx and Crake, a 2003 dystopia by Margaret Atwood. ChickieNobs are made from genetically modified chickens that resemble plants: no eyes, no feet, and no more brain than necessary to grow big, juicy pods of breasts or thighs. Humans modified to live off grass and leaves. Strains of Animal Farm.
Met co-workers on St. Patty's at the Irish bar downtown after work. Audrey, who's got another job now, Joannie, and Ron, all from Wine and Cheese. Katey was supposed to be there, and I expected Anthony, but neither showed. The husband of someone from the kitchen was in the band. He had killer arms and a kilt that the three could not stop giggling over. They're all in their 40s at least and were drunk by the time I arrived. I felt distant but friendly and glad to be social with people I like from work. Dancing was awful: I was hyper-aware, could make out each of the ten or so people dancing, all badly, like a joke about white people dancing. I sat out the second half. A man who was clearly auditioning for the role of Audrey's rebound man showed up, got the job. Joannie and I talked about how to be happy at work. We're both kept from the poverty our paychecks would afford us by our partners, it seems, though I got no more details from her. Audrey was protected in the same fashion by her soon to be ex-husband, and Ron is kept by his, so we're all alike in that way. Katey is trying to find work in Boston; that is probably why she was not there.
I'm intrigued by Faith, the goth/punk girl at work who also bikes. Ken, another sexy cyclist, seems intrigued with me. There's lots of nice sexual energy roaming around. One of the perks of the job. Staying happy a high percentage of the time, in my serving people with pleasure mode.
Gym is good: increasing the number of reps and sets is doing good things for my endurance. Working hard on form on my two major lifts, the deadlift and the squat. I am concerned that I've been somehow favoring my left side. I have a hard time perceiving or inhabiting my left side as well as my right. I don't know if I can explain it better than that. It's, I think, proprioception. So I'm straining kind of hard to get into my left side, to make sure it's doing its share of lifting, that I'm not dropping onto my right side first and following with my left, for instance, when I get down into a squat. Taking notes, progressing slowly, being cautious.
It is damn near spring. It's been dry and above freezing, for the most part, good riding conditions. All they need to do is sweep King St. and I'll be in fine shape. As it is, the so-called bike lanes are full of sand and dangerous metal things. People are occasionally showing up at the co-op wearing revealing clothing. Women seem to think they're properly dressed in either bicycle pants or pajama bottoms. Spring will only heighten this effect. I look forward to the pastel dresses baring shoulders and legs.
Got some stuff from Amazon that I ordered: a DVD of All About My Mother, one of my favorite movies and inexplicably not available from Netflix. Nourishing Traditions, a bible of the Weston A. Price set, and one I've been meaning to get and read for a long time. Overqualified, a book of cover letters written (and actually sent) by Joey Comeau, who reveals himself to be a sentimental and hilariously funny individual. He draws a web comic called Pictures for Sad Children and is a buddy of Ryan North, who draws Dinosaur Comics. I found the book because Ryan plugged it in his Dinosaurs email.
Have the day off: Kevin and I are heading to the Boston area for the weekend to visit friends. I'm baking a cake to bring. When it gets out of the oven, I will return my library books. The Invention of Air, about Joseph Priestley, a contemporary of our founding fathers who simultaneously invented chemistry and believed in phlogiston. These are the people the steampunks are intrigued by. Computer programming is the new gentleman's science, practicable in an ordinary household laboratory. Oryx and Crake, a 2003 dystopia by Margaret Atwood. ChickieNobs are made from genetically modified chickens that resemble plants: no eyes, no feet, and no more brain than necessary to grow big, juicy pods of breasts or thighs. Humans modified to live off grass and leaves. Strains of Animal Farm.
Met co-workers on St. Patty's at the Irish bar downtown after work. Audrey, who's got another job now, Joannie, and Ron, all from Wine and Cheese. Katey was supposed to be there, and I expected Anthony, but neither showed. The husband of someone from the kitchen was in the band. He had killer arms and a kilt that the three could not stop giggling over. They're all in their 40s at least and were drunk by the time I arrived. I felt distant but friendly and glad to be social with people I like from work. Dancing was awful: I was hyper-aware, could make out each of the ten or so people dancing, all badly, like a joke about white people dancing. I sat out the second half. A man who was clearly auditioning for the role of Audrey's rebound man showed up, got the job. Joannie and I talked about how to be happy at work. We're both kept from the poverty our paychecks would afford us by our partners, it seems, though I got no more details from her. Audrey was protected in the same fashion by her soon to be ex-husband, and Ron is kept by his, so we're all alike in that way. Katey is trying to find work in Boston; that is probably why she was not there.
I'm intrigued by Faith, the goth/punk girl at work who also bikes. Ken, another sexy cyclist, seems intrigued with me. There's lots of nice sexual energy roaming around. One of the perks of the job. Staying happy a high percentage of the time, in my serving people with pleasure mode.
Gym is good: increasing the number of reps and sets is doing good things for my endurance. Working hard on form on my two major lifts, the deadlift and the squat. I am concerned that I've been somehow favoring my left side. I have a hard time perceiving or inhabiting my left side as well as my right. I don't know if I can explain it better than that. It's, I think, proprioception. So I'm straining kind of hard to get into my left side, to make sure it's doing its share of lifting, that I'm not dropping onto my right side first and following with my left, for instance, when I get down into a squat. Taking notes, progressing slowly, being cautious.
It is damn near spring. It's been dry and above freezing, for the most part, good riding conditions. All they need to do is sweep King St. and I'll be in fine shape. As it is, the so-called bike lanes are full of sand and dangerous metal things. People are occasionally showing up at the co-op wearing revealing clothing. Women seem to think they're properly dressed in either bicycle pants or pajama bottoms. Spring will only heighten this effect. I look forward to the pastel dresses baring shoulders and legs.