Wisdom in a Baggie

DAY- Int.

DENTIST

Oh good, you aren't wearing any nail polish. It interferes.

ME

I feel a little...

(2 hrs later)

DENTIST

You can let her eat anything soft: pudding, yogurt, smoothies, pasta

ME

Emgh...KD!

********************************

I got my three wisdom teeth removed on Friday. I remember very little because of the drugs. I think I may have exaggerated my metabolism or something, because I am pretty sure the surgeon (pointed canines, looks you in the eyes, doesn't know how to not sexualize conversation) overdosed me on sedatives. I was supposed to silly but aware; I was, in fact, basically unconscious. I ralphed chocolate soy milk on the way home (my sister was the best...she picked me up and got me some mac n' cheese, and put me to bed and let me sleep over) somehow mostly into a bag, though also on my jeans and a bit on the car seat. It is very strange to think I could lose actual hours. As if they never existed.



The Russian probably has some lost hours as well. He is in New Orleans, helping his old friend to escape Grey's Anatomy nights with his girlfriend and her friends. I think that essentially means a lot of drinking, some drugs and possibly strippers. I hope he didn't cheat on me. I won't be happy and I don't want to ask the question. I don't want to expect that to be the case. I can't imagine being apart for 5 weeks while I am in Spain, with little communication. It is going to be difficult.

I will be finished classes in about a month. It seems like I have a lot do, still. But it will get done. I am feeling kind of calm, even with all the work I have piling up. It will get done. I have learned how to ask for help, from the Russian, from Bby. I never used to. I don't really know how to ask for things.

In other news, I got into a tiff with my landlord, but I posted my apartment for May on craigslist and I already have about ten people interested, so I am not too worried about having to keep this place for May. Screw that guy. It is going to be a different story when I get back from Spain - I wonder if the Russian and I will have found a place and what it will be like. I wanted him close to me so much last night, it was overwhelming. I think about decorating and cooking and choosing between my stuff and his stuff. Salt and pepper shakers in duplicate.

This is the opening paragraph to a story I wrote a week or so ago:

The little boy squats on his haunches, watching the blood squeeze out of the scrape on his knee. He is bird-boned and porridge coloured, even now, during the height of summer. His hair flops in front of his glasses, soft and dirty. He puts a finger to a bead of blood and rolls it like a snot between his fingers until it thins and smears. He likes that it is quickly replaced with a new bead that thickens and darkens, and then he can do it again. He shifts forward into the sand, and squats again, examining the bloody crystals in the depression in his sandbox, and then the sand that his knee has collected. He carefully brushes a sample of the bloody sand into the cargo pocket of his shorts and then flops onto his back, eyes to the sunburned coloured sky. When the Power Rangers watch hanging off his wrist beeps he springs up, runs through the dry yellow grass, to the back veranda, and slips through the screen door and onto his seat before his mother has a chance to call him.

The Russian said it was reminiscent of Flannery O'Connor, which might be true. I have been reading her letters a lot recently. She is a champion letter writer. Living in Milledgeville with her mom because of her lupous forced her to be a good correspondent, but I think it was probably a medium that suited her better than human contact. She was closer to her God than anyone else, I think. She is a warm and caring friend, but she also struggled to communicate her views on the world, especially the borders of the world, that get softened by faith and the unknowable.

I leave you with this:

Plus Equals Minus

DAY- Int.

MOTHER

He's a hell of a kid

FATHER

It's true

MOTHER

I don't think he really needs a babysitter

FATHER

You're right. Let's just go. He probably won't wake up

***************************************

My guest lecturer has just blamed the recession on the immense surplus of information available to industries, the problems in processing this information and the resulting inability to make decisions. The recession, essentially, is the result of the paralysis of business and industry by too much information. Weird. But it makes intuitive sense, in way. On a tiny, personal scale, I am often paralysed when I can't block out incoming crap and focus on what I need to focus on. And in some ways, ionformation is deceptively comforting. Like, I feel on top of things when I have researched a bunch of articles for a paper and printed them out, and prioritized them with coloured paper clips. I haven't read the articles, and I haven't produced a paper, but just having the pile of paper in my hand...Or collecting links to job opportunities - I haven't applied to all of them, but I know they are out there because I have subscribed to the right listservs, etc, etc. As if a plan means something without the execution.

I feel like I am holding things together, but barely. I have applied for some jobs, namely this internship in Washington that I really want, I am handing in my assignments, I am keeping up, but I feel so many things piling up, a little out of control. My finding aid for the Quebec Gay Archives should really be finished up in the next two weeks, and I have to work on the online part of it. Essays, case studies, crap crap crap. And apply apply apply! There is a project archivist job available at Emory, near Miss J! which I applied for. I am not quite qualified, but it would be an incredible opportunity. Of course, convincing the Russian to move to Atlanta for 3 years would be tough beans. I mentioned it half seriously, and he replied quite seriously, 'I could do it for a year.' So, you know, whatever that means (duh, it means he could do it for a year, Sparks).

We are very happy at the moment. I feel...comfortable and challenged. It is a nice feeling. I like his creative influence on me. I have been writing for the first time in years, and there is some decent stuff coming out of me, I think.

And we had a really good time in Chicago. I like his friends a lot, although Nat was a bit reserved, but in a very sweet, kind way. Except when we went to a trivia night. The animal came out that night, but with reason: he is awesome at trivia. We also has a lot of fun playing balderdash. I bonded with his girlfriend Emmy, as we chose each other's answers and Nat and I both came up with a movie plot line involving an elephant named Twinky. The sleeping arrangements turned out to be totally fine (the Russian and I need an L shaped bed), and Chicago is just a really interesting city. Wide streets and the lake is just remarkable. It really changes the feel and the movement of the city. everything slows and grows as it gets closer to the water, although apparently the only reason there is no serious building on the banks of the lake is because they bulldozed the ruins of the city after the Great Fire towards the lake and couldn't build skyscrapers on a land fill. Dinner with the Jews for Jesus family was totally pleasant and pretty tasty as well, though it was pretty much exclusively Russian. I was too full to talk anyway.

This is the Cloud Gate, which I was like, whatev, what a stupid sculpture, but when you see it, it is really sort of fun and amazing:

Taxidermia: freaked me right out. It's a Hungarian movie about three generations of men each with a special sumpin sumpin. The grandpa has a penchant for inserting his penis into strange places, and sometimes ejaculates fire. After a psychadelic mating a baby with a pig tail is produced who grows up to become an almost champion speed eater, who in turn begets (thanks Pierre) a scrawny, sickly taxidermist. The final stuffing is one of the most insane things I have ever seen on film. It is remarkably well shot, and somehow manages to crawl in your brain and lay something a little fetid, but also unique.