Not drinking alcohol in the evenings makes me extremely irritable. As I’ve mentioned before – it also brings the insomnia back. I have a bunch of thoughts to jot down in no particular order:
Max has been calling home from school every single morning now with some physical issue or another. So I know he’s feeling anxiety even if he says he’s doing okay in school.
He’s had 8 nosebleeds between Monday and this morning. He’s begging me to make an appointment to get that other side of his nose cauterized. I’ve made an appointment to consult with his new pediatrician.
I’m sad that the American Consulate was attacked last night and that people were killed. Especially sad that Christopher Stevens was killed as I’ve read that he was liked and trusted by Libyans. It’s really important that United States Ambassadors develop that kind of trust with the countries they’re working in.
I’m so angry with Sam Bacile for making such an inflammatory anti-Islam “film”. He claims “The Innocence of Muslims” is a political film, not a religious one. And yet it’s sole message is to debunk Islam’s beloved Muhammad. There is no way he could be stupid enough to think he could make such a film at a time like this and not incite protests.* Whether he intended to start attacks is unclear but I consider him an accessory to the murders of the Americans in the Consulate in Libya along with the actual attackers.
If you light a match or throw a spark to dry timber – are you not responsible for the fire itself even if you are not doing the burning with your own hands?
There was nothing in Obama’s speech about the attacks in Libya that sympathized with the group of attackers nor did he in any way condone the actions of that group. How did Mitt Romney manage to come up with that accusation based on Obama’s speech. Mitt’s response? Military action.
Republican leaders are so fucking predictable.
Also – what kind of man uses an event like this to smear his political opponent? This was a great opportunity for Mitt to show us what he’s really made of. And he did.
I have a bag of apples that need to be made into apple sauce and apple butter today but I also have work, a doctor’s appointment with Max for his nosebleeds, a work conference call, and emails to write and a letter to the Middle School to write. I’m feeling a little pulled.
Dicks for guns. That’s what my brain just said. But what it really meant was guns for dicks. I don’t usually use the word dick in place of penis. Incidentally
Cold fried eggs are gross. I don’t know why I like cold hard boiled eggs.
Once again I’m reading Mary Stewart (“This Rough Magic”) and am appalled at my own writing. Why should I bother? I know we’re not supposed to compare our own writing/art/work/creativity against anyone else’s. On the other hand, without such comparisons it’s difficult to see how to set higher goals for one’s self. I know that my writing style could never be similar to hers. Her writing is more informed than mine; she knows every bird and it’s call, she knows geography explicitly well, she’s so well versed in the classics her work breaths with it, trees, culture, nature – her work is rich with the most colorful and effective similes. I work with a different palette. My references are more modern and informal. I can’t tell what my strengths are with my fiction and that bothers me. I know what hers are. If I’m to see my own value and not hold myself up directly to her – I need to know what I have to offer that’s worthy and different.
My office is so bright all the time I feel blind. I’m squinting constantly. I need to wear sunglasses in here even with the shades down. (The shades are white plastic so they are still bright) What I really need, I think, are curtains.
80’s, high 80’s, mid 80’s, it’s all 80’s all the time here. My friend M.S. calls this winter weather. Hahaha. I am wishing for her that she get some of this cool 80’s weather we’re having.
Oh. I have a fancy phone with no phone or data plan (not sure what I can afford yet). So I can’t use it for much yet but a friend gave it to Philip. It’s a 2 year old Droidx phone. I am getting used to it by staring at it. I even googled something on it the other day (it’s connected to our wifi) and discovered that I have really big-ass fingers.
I’ve just realized what I have that Mary Stewart doesn’t have but I can’t articulate it yet. What made me see it is this silly post I wrote the other night – a bluesy late night poem called “Cloudy Pickle Blues” which I wrote and didn’t look at again until today. Stewart is driven by the classics and I’m driven by the stories of those who drift through parking garages and pissy alleyways.
God, today was awful. Just awful.
But I made of it what I could. It ends better than all its other parts played out.
I hope you sleep tonight with no nightmares of elevators with parades of corpses.
*He knows what the fuck he was doing.