Everything spirals and coils and winds and unwinds. I dust a little here, I dust a little there. I read a little from Virginia Woolf's "The Waves"...then Rachel Corrie's diaries, where she spoofs Anaïs Nin. Where she reflects on Kundera's "The Unbearable Lightness of Being". I finish "Orlando".
I go to get my back cracked. I have lunch. I run into Sat Inder and Danielle, and Sat Inder talks about how he does not have anything in his life that is not yoga. He offers that he might develop a hobby stitching Teddy bears. I think of my writing. Three manuscripts: "Flowers * .•....", "As Red ......•*•.....•*•....*•", and "?" When will I finish them? I re-read Idalith Marie's e-mails. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to kiss her?
Did I hurt Joe when I told him I was in love with a woman many months ago? All the games we've played...I'm no better than he ~ telling me all about Magan. We are mean to each other.
I read Gina B. Nahai's "Caspian Rain" and think: that was the Iran my mother would have lived in had she married the other man besides my father....
Idalith is interested in what I read, what I love...is Joe? Did Dad know my mother even though it took him years to realize that her favorite poet was not Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but Edna St. Vincent Millay? My mother the reader, writer of letters to the editor, of essay-long letters to me...my father talking on and on and on ad infinitum~ lingering in his library~ his house a library...House of Leaves. No wonder the book scared me. And the words of the Kennedy Sisters...Gray Gardens: "Oh, it's a sea of leaves...if you drop it, it's gone forever."???
No comments:
Post a Comment