It is impossible for me to finish this post without first writing one hundred words. It is impossible for me to call it done without first beginning it. So I am here, ill and in bed, with a sore jaw and headache and a body that aches for succor of all stripes, writing to you.
I should get in the bath and try and sleep, but I don’t expect it to happen so easily as that.
Chinese Food Picnic…my coworkers sent me home early today, or my boss, I suppose at the shop. I have caught the great whatever, a sickness that has worn me down, and I was so relieved to be able to drive home in the light of day and not the dark of night, but before all that my co-worker bought me egg drop soup and we ate at a table in the middle of the store, just for fun. She also made me a jar of baileys and vodka and chocolate something and I forgot it in a mad rush to get home and cry on the couch.
The I Don’t Want A Christmas Tree I Can Trip On Christmas…my mother doesn’t want me to put up the big Christmas tree. And if I love her, I will hear her and not do it. But I do want to put up the big Christmas tree. Not necessarily there, not necessarily the family one, but mine, dotted with ornaments that have the meaning of the life I would be celebrating. My own stars and little birds and apples and stained glass Seven Swans a’Swimming and my own stories. I wish I had an easy way to do that.
Crying in the dark…today, I sat on the couch and cried in the dark. The little kitten came up and swirled around on my lap, disturbed and restless about it. I didn’t mind.
The Handmaid’s Tale…I am intrigued by the adaptation that Hulu’s putting out. That book is, of course, a hugely relevant consideration of a dystopian direction that nobody can say we’re NOT pushing as a country right now. I remember reading it in a Women’s Lit class (oh, you know damn well I took Women’s Lit classes, honestly) and I found it so striking, so blood-curdling, so horrific. But also, naturally, just scifi. Just out there in terms of anything that I believed the government would allow to happen. Now, I don’t believe it will happen, but I don’t believe some aspects of it won’t subtly encroach further and deeper than any sane and rational person would allow if they knew they were coming down the pike. I hope it is a conversation starter. I hope it is so revolting and horrifying that people pay some sort of attention.
Pizza Terminator…oh, why couldn’t Sarah Connor and Kyle Reese had a few years together raising their crazy Skynet-destroying son together before he got hit, inexplicably and tragically by a car or a falling computer or something. It would be so much more ironic. But, alas, that’s probably not what they were going for. It just makes sense to me.
That is postmodernism for you, though.
Fever…do I have one? Can we tell if we touch our forehead with a feverish hand? Probably not. I did take the one baby aspirin so I do feel covered. I just have to sleep. I will, at some point, probably at gunpoint, make that happen.
Life…this is how it’s looking these days.