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Saturday, June 22, 2002
Oh. God. On the train in Stockholm to Linn's suburb of Stureby (hard r's, so difficult to pronounce) the other day, saw the most beautiful man I have ever seen. He was a Hippie Jesus. That's right, a Hippie Jesus. Purple caftan of some sort of coarse, woven material. Long, blonde hair. Long, blonde beard. Bright, intense blue eyes. Almost certainly some sort of model. Bracelet made of some sort of dried berries. I'm so in love. I must find a way to stalk him. All I know is that he lives on Linn's train line. I must ride the train constantly for the remainder of my stay here...
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:39 AM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:39 AM | shower me with attention
So in the book I'm currently reading, the author quotes Kafka at the beginning of the second story. The quote resonated big, clanging, vibrating chords with me. It's why I think my opinion is fairly worthless, and why people seek said opinion so often anyway. It's why I can't speak coherently about the geniuses around me, and simply dissolve into bumbling awe. (See, oh, any post whatsoever about, for example, the Baby Geniuses, mentors and the like.)
The actors by their presence always convince me, to my horror, that most of what I've written about them until now is false. It is false because I write about them with steadfast love (even now, while I write it down, this, too, becomes false) but varying ability, and this varying ability does not hit off the real actors loudly and correctly but loses itself dully in this love that will never be satisfied with the ability and therefore thinks it is protecting the actos by preventing this ability from exercising itself.
And then, were that enough, the next quote, from Kierkegaard, rams the sucker on home perfectly:
It is (to describe it figuratively) as if an author were to make a slip of the pen, and as if this clerical error became conscious of being such. Perhaps this was no error but in a far higher sense was an essential part of the whole exposition. It is, then, as if this clerical error were to revolt against the author, out of hatred for him, were to forbid him to correct it, and were to say, "No, I will not be erased, I will stand as a witness against thee, that thou art a very poor writer."
Oh, Buddy Glass, I do so love you with my useless-- although not cheap, not cheap, anyway-- love.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:07 AM | shower me with attention
The actors by their presence always convince me, to my horror, that most of what I've written about them until now is false. It is false because I write about them with steadfast love (even now, while I write it down, this, too, becomes false) but varying ability, and this varying ability does not hit off the real actors loudly and correctly but loses itself dully in this love that will never be satisfied with the ability and therefore thinks it is protecting the actos by preventing this ability from exercising itself.
And then, were that enough, the next quote, from Kierkegaard, rams the sucker on home perfectly:
It is (to describe it figuratively) as if an author were to make a slip of the pen, and as if this clerical error became conscious of being such. Perhaps this was no error but in a far higher sense was an essential part of the whole exposition. It is, then, as if this clerical error were to revolt against the author, out of hatred for him, were to forbid him to correct it, and were to say, "No, I will not be erased, I will stand as a witness against thee, that thou art a very poor writer."
Oh, Buddy Glass, I do so love you with my useless-- although not cheap, not cheap, anyway-- love.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:07 AM | shower me with attention
Friday, June 21, 2002
YES! YESSS!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:59 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:59 PM | shower me with attention
Oh, oh. I woke up at 4 am this morning to pee and it was bríght as day outside. It WAS day outside. Longest day of the year and all. I'm sitting here trying to figure out why I'm so sleepy when it's obviously the middle of the day and then I look at my watch and it's almost 11 pm. Glory.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:38 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:38 PM | shower me with attention
There's lots to remember and none of it will be in order. Hunh. I didn't mean to keep a travelogue but it seems to be working out that way. Deeeeal with it.
So, all jumbled: my first impression of Linn's mother was both hilarious and appropriate, for when we arrived she was clad only in underwear. That's right, it runs in the family. They just love to strut around nude. Oh, those Swedes.
And, her parents sleep on mats on the floor.
Hello?
Her parents, her parents. First of all, absolutely gorgeous people. Surprise, surprise. Her dad, hunkandahalf. Her mom, beautiful silver-haired pixie. She and Linn hug and press their faces together and you can see how stunning Linn will be when she's older. Her dad, gruff and shy but popping in every once in awhile and dropping off a photo for me to look at-- their summer house, Linn eating cherries, Linn's sister Emma on the cover of a magazine.
I haven't met Linn's sister yet, but she's the kind of person that you desperately want to hate, but can't because she's so wonderful. I know this before having met her, about the wonderful. Because of Linn, you know. Not that that always follows-- siblings aren't always equally pleasant personalities*, but in this case one knows. (Juan knows? Who's Juan?) Sister Emma is a model, a sort of stunningly gorgeous so that your eyes hurt perfect specimin of beauty. And an artist. A sort of stunningly talented so that your eyes hurt creative being. In the face of this you sort of just ache with your own inadequacy, except that they're so warm and darling that there's no room to dwell on such nonsense. (Ha, I sense a theme, meeting a family like this and reading about the Glasses at the same time. It's like watching M*A*S*H and reading Catch-22 simultaneously.)
Today is Midsummer's Eve, not yesterday (oops), and so we went to Linn's friend Sara's house for our indoor pickanick. Lots of herring and wejeetobbles and frukt, frukt, frukt. Yellow watermelon! Linn's friends Sara and girl-whose-name-I-can't-pronounce Ulrika were truly lovely. Ulrika apologized needlessly every time she started to speak Swedish and then translated for me. It was fun to enjoy the musicality of the words unencumbered by such distracting baggage as meaning and context. Swedish is very pretty to hear. Sara's boyfriend was also there-- he was cute and polite but spent most of the time playing some sort of Quake-like game on Sara's computer. After lunch we went for a walk in this amazing park and I drank in the pretty things and belched out awe and wonder.
I'm sort of exhausted now-- a lot of new people met in one day, and I'm in the house where Linn grew up, typing on the computer she typed on when first we "met". It's spooky how much her living room, particularly, matches my imaginings of it. Almost exactly. The high, slanted, bare white wall and the long blondewood staircase and the rag mats and the plants lining the windowsills, sort of my Mental Picture of Sweden now in living colour all around me.
Still no sign of the mysterious Oscar. My curiosity mounts.
Did I mention Swedish condoms yet? Only passingly, ah, I see below. They're packaged really funny. Looks like candy should be inside, but out pops a prophylactic!
All this useless beauuuuuuutyyyyyyy...
*My sister, for instance, although wonderful, vivacious, funny, witty, puckish and intelligent, often hides these qualities from me out of spite, although she is eager to share them with my friends. Perhaps this is because we still share a room. I miss her. I will bring her back some Aquavit. I wonder how she's doing. I saw her online this morning but we didn't IM. Perhaps she will read this entry and decide to email or call. Ha, funny. All this talk about people's perfect sisters makes me long for my own. Have I gone on in length about her beautiful qualities? How often we think the same thing at the same time, and harmonize together, and how she's always, always, always telling me how pretty I am and how good I would look in this or that, and how she's constantly telling her friends how smart I am. And do I ever tell my friends how smart she is? No, I say, "Kirsten is writing Japanese basement porn again, yawn yawn." Wow, I am tired, because I'm getting all choked up now. She's not demonstrative so I can sit here and weep all over with love for her, but she'll only show these emotions when it is important to, and it makes them so much more powerful. I have more to say about my tendency to overstate and exagerrate my love and admiration so that it loses its meaning and it's just a bunch of empty words that I'm vomiting out, but I'll put that down later when I'm less sleepy and emotional.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:01 PM | shower me with attention
So, all jumbled: my first impression of Linn's mother was both hilarious and appropriate, for when we arrived she was clad only in underwear. That's right, it runs in the family. They just love to strut around nude. Oh, those Swedes.
And, her parents sleep on mats on the floor.
Hello?
Her parents, her parents. First of all, absolutely gorgeous people. Surprise, surprise. Her dad, hunkandahalf. Her mom, beautiful silver-haired pixie. She and Linn hug and press their faces together and you can see how stunning Linn will be when she's older. Her dad, gruff and shy but popping in every once in awhile and dropping off a photo for me to look at-- their summer house, Linn eating cherries, Linn's sister Emma on the cover of a magazine.
I haven't met Linn's sister yet, but she's the kind of person that you desperately want to hate, but can't because she's so wonderful. I know this before having met her, about the wonderful. Because of Linn, you know. Not that that always follows-- siblings aren't always equally pleasant personalities*, but in this case one knows. (Juan knows? Who's Juan?) Sister Emma is a model, a sort of stunningly gorgeous so that your eyes hurt perfect specimin of beauty. And an artist. A sort of stunningly talented so that your eyes hurt creative being. In the face of this you sort of just ache with your own inadequacy, except that they're so warm and darling that there's no room to dwell on such nonsense. (Ha, I sense a theme, meeting a family like this and reading about the Glasses at the same time. It's like watching M*A*S*H and reading Catch-22 simultaneously.)
Today is Midsummer's Eve, not yesterday (oops), and so we went to Linn's friend Sara's house for our indoor pickanick. Lots of herring and wejeetobbles and frukt, frukt, frukt. Yellow watermelon! Linn's friends Sara and girl-whose-name-I-can't-pronounce Ulrika were truly lovely. Ulrika apologized needlessly every time she started to speak Swedish and then translated for me. It was fun to enjoy the musicality of the words unencumbered by such distracting baggage as meaning and context. Swedish is very pretty to hear. Sara's boyfriend was also there-- he was cute and polite but spent most of the time playing some sort of Quake-like game on Sara's computer. After lunch we went for a walk in this amazing park and I drank in the pretty things and belched out awe and wonder.
I'm sort of exhausted now-- a lot of new people met in one day, and I'm in the house where Linn grew up, typing on the computer she typed on when first we "met". It's spooky how much her living room, particularly, matches my imaginings of it. Almost exactly. The high, slanted, bare white wall and the long blondewood staircase and the rag mats and the plants lining the windowsills, sort of my Mental Picture of Sweden now in living colour all around me.
Still no sign of the mysterious Oscar. My curiosity mounts.
Did I mention Swedish condoms yet? Only passingly, ah, I see below. They're packaged really funny. Looks like candy should be inside, but out pops a prophylactic!
All this useless beauuuuuuutyyyyyyy...
*My sister, for instance, although wonderful, vivacious, funny, witty, puckish and intelligent, often hides these qualities from me out of spite, although she is eager to share them with my friends. Perhaps this is because we still share a room. I miss her. I will bring her back some Aquavit. I wonder how she's doing. I saw her online this morning but we didn't IM. Perhaps she will read this entry and decide to email or call. Ha, funny. All this talk about people's perfect sisters makes me long for my own. Have I gone on in length about her beautiful qualities? How often we think the same thing at the same time, and harmonize together, and how she's always, always, always telling me how pretty I am and how good I would look in this or that, and how she's constantly telling her friends how smart I am. And do I ever tell my friends how smart she is? No, I say, "Kirsten is writing Japanese basement porn again, yawn yawn." Wow, I am tired, because I'm getting all choked up now. She's not demonstrative so I can sit here and weep all over with love for her, but she'll only show these emotions when it is important to, and it makes them so much more powerful. I have more to say about my tendency to overstate and exagerrate my love and admiration so that it loses its meaning and it's just a bunch of empty words that I'm vomiting out, but I'll put that down later when I'm less sleepy and emotional.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:01 PM | shower me with attention
Raise High the Roof Beams, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction is the most amazing book. I'm gorging myself on Glass right now. Can anyone commiserate?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:38 AM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:38 AM | shower me with attention
Chilly and drizzly midsummer morning. Crown Princess still asleep. I fell asleep at 8:30 last night (or 16:30, if you will; I won't) and woke up at 8:30 in the am. That's my make-up sleep, so I'm now caught up.
Today is a picnic with Linn's famous friends. I'm afraid because they're new people and they might not like me, but I always am so I have learned to ignore it. I wonder if our picnic will have to be postponed due to rain. Can we still eat the herring? Like, right now? I want the herring so bad.
Good news: I am NOT carrying the Messiah!
Bad news: Owwwwwwww.
Now the cat's out of the bag, so I can shout: LINNHASABOYFRIENDLINNHASABOYFRIENDLINNHASABOYFRIENDLINNHASABOYFRIEND! His name is Oscar. Sadly, it's not Oskar; I really wanted it to be Oskar. I'm sure he's sorry. I want to meet him. They send each other text-messages back and forth on their cell phones all day long. That is very popular here. They call it SMS-ing. Cell phones are even more prevalent here than at home. Thank you, Mr Ericsson. Actually, Mr Nokia.
Tomorrow we fly to Amsterdam. I want to go down to the Flying Pig Palace just to scout for old men in rollerskates even though my mom simplified our lives by making us reservations at an airport hotel for Saturday night.
They don't have Pantene in Sweden. I actually stood in a drugstore in Heathrow staring at the bottles of Pantene thinking, "I should buy this, I should buy this..." and then, you know, NOT buying it, and the next day, quite out of the blue, Linn announced to me that her hair is dry and coarse because they don't have Pantene here. (Her hair is not dry and coarse, but quite perfect.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:18 AM | shower me with attention
Today is a picnic with Linn's famous friends. I'm afraid because they're new people and they might not like me, but I always am so I have learned to ignore it. I wonder if our picnic will have to be postponed due to rain. Can we still eat the herring? Like, right now? I want the herring so bad.
Good news: I am NOT carrying the Messiah!
Bad news: Owwwwwwww.
Now the cat's out of the bag, so I can shout: LINNHASABOYFRIENDLINNHASABOYFRIENDLINNHASABOYFRIENDLINNHASABOYFRIEND! His name is Oscar. Sadly, it's not Oskar; I really wanted it to be Oskar. I'm sure he's sorry. I want to meet him. They send each other text-messages back and forth on their cell phones all day long. That is very popular here. They call it SMS-ing. Cell phones are even more prevalent here than at home. Thank you, Mr Ericsson. Actually, Mr Nokia.
Tomorrow we fly to Amsterdam. I want to go down to the Flying Pig Palace just to scout for old men in rollerskates even though my mom simplified our lives by making us reservations at an airport hotel for Saturday night.
They don't have Pantene in Sweden. I actually stood in a drugstore in Heathrow staring at the bottles of Pantene thinking, "I should buy this, I should buy this..." and then, you know, NOT buying it, and the next day, quite out of the blue, Linn announced to me that her hair is dry and coarse because they don't have Pantene here. (Her hair is not dry and coarse, but quite perfect.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:18 AM | shower me with attention
I watched a show about tornados yesterday, cause there was no one to stop me.
Oooh... this is passive-aggressive guilt-mongering, you horrible fiend. You need a slap!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:55 AM | shower me with attention
Oooh... this is passive-aggressive guilt-mongering, you horrible fiend. You need a slap!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:55 AM | shower me with attention
Thursday, June 20, 2002
We breakfasted on the balcony. My favourite part of making breakfast was plopping the raisins into the strangely liquid, strangely delicious bowl of yogurt. I was transfixed by how they disappeared and left no trace on the surface of the yogurt that they had ever existed.
We went to a place called Kulturehaus and looked at overpriced Swedish gifts. In the part with all the kiddie stuff I saw some modeling sand that I absolutely must buy, and, very excitingly, some picture books by the author of only my sister's and my favourite children's book when we were three-- still have it! Know exactly where it is!-- which-- my god, why didn't I ever think to look on the web before???-- which this site has completely wrong because they were NOT called Tilly and Tessa, they were called LISA AND LYNN, LISA AND LYNN, dammit!!!!!--
I forgot what I was talking about.
We wandered around and bought strawberries and ate them on the steps and we wandered some more-- not quite Roam, Roam, Roaming but nearing it-- and then we bought massive amounts of delicious groceries (not a shred of junk food in the batch because this is the Swedish Health Spa) and we dragged them home and now I am eating herring. I like Sweden a lot. Today is Midsummer Eve and tomorrow is Midsummer which is a big gigantic national holiday. And apparently Aimee, now driving sideways from the computer's speakers, is going to be in Sweden while I'm here, but too far away and badly timed for us to go see her, poop.
I'm being called for dinner.
OH! I know. Linn has taken up archery. I know it's because she secretly wishes she was Legolas. Ha ha ha ha ha.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:56 PM | shower me with attention
We went to a place called Kulturehaus and looked at overpriced Swedish gifts. In the part with all the kiddie stuff I saw some modeling sand that I absolutely must buy, and, very excitingly, some picture books by the author of only my sister's and my favourite children's book when we were three-- still have it! Know exactly where it is!-- which-- my god, why didn't I ever think to look on the web before???-- which this site has completely wrong because they were NOT called Tilly and Tessa, they were called LISA AND LYNN, LISA AND LYNN, dammit!!!!!--
I forgot what I was talking about.
We wandered around and bought strawberries and ate them on the steps and we wandered some more-- not quite Roam, Roam, Roaming but nearing it-- and then we bought massive amounts of delicious groceries (not a shred of junk food in the batch because this is the Swedish Health Spa) and we dragged them home and now I am eating herring. I like Sweden a lot. Today is Midsummer Eve and tomorrow is Midsummer which is a big gigantic national holiday. And apparently Aimee, now driving sideways from the computer's speakers, is going to be in Sweden while I'm here, but too far away and badly timed for us to go see her, poop.
I'm being called for dinner.
OH! I know. Linn has taken up archery. I know it's because she secretly wishes she was Legolas. Ha ha ha ha ha.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:56 PM | shower me with attention
I know what this place is missing! MORE dogs and pigs and chickens and things!
I mean, more goils. More goils.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:55 AM | shower me with attention
I mean, more goils. More goils.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:55 AM | shower me with attention
God dag! Beautiful Swedish morning and snowbunny still asleep. Lack of overpowering traffic noises is refreshing, like being in Disney World. (Ah, finally, the inevitable comparison!) Am slowly getting used to this confounded Swedish keyboard, with the ä where the apostrophes should be. So this is six am after a natural and fulfilling sleep! Hello, sir! Hello, six! How are you? How's it cooking, sir?
This is the Swedish Spa Vacation I've been dreaming of. My Swedish masseuse slumbers, the Swedish sun shines into her kitchen, where for some reason she keeps her computer (where does she eat? In front of the tv like any good American! We have taught her well!)
Lesson one: if the box says apelsin juice on the container, it doesn't contain what you expect; nej, sweet and refreshing ORANGE juice lurks within!
I think I'm gonna like it here!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:41 AM | shower me with attention
This is the Swedish Spa Vacation I've been dreaming of. My Swedish masseuse slumbers, the Swedish sun shines into her kitchen, where for some reason she keeps her computer (where does she eat? In front of the tv like any good American! We have taught her well!)
Lesson one: if the box says apelsin juice on the container, it doesn't contain what you expect; nej, sweet and refreshing ORANGE juice lurks within!
I think I'm gonna like it here!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:41 AM | shower me with attention
Wednesday, June 19, 2002
I think I pumped something like £10 into that stupid internet kiosk. It killed, what, an hour of my endless day at the airport?
I'm at LINN's APARTMENT (!!!!) right now and nothing on the keyboard is where it should be but it's so beautiful here. It's 11:30 at night but the sun is just going down. That'll take some getting used to... I doubt Kitana of the blackout shades will be able to sleep but who will want to sleep? I've been up for many many hours and I don't feel like sleeping not a single bit no sirree bob.
Linn met me at the gate in and we got on a bus and then we got on a train and then we got off and she lugged my lead-filled suitcase and led me through streets of pretty little houses and trees everywhere, trees all around you like an enchanted forest and please believe that this makes an impression on a city girl, and she stopped to pick some berries from a plant growing out of the sidewalk-- out of the sidewalk and we ate them and they were like tiny strawberries, but different, and then her apartment and her apartment is just exactly what my apartment would be like if I had an apartment, just exactly like it, down to the floor and the colour of the walls and the Christmas lights and the lanterns. It's an ideal vacation, living a fantasy of how it could be to be independent and have one's own place to live in and trees outside...
...and she told me about her (...) and I shrieked and she reached into her bedside drawer and shrieked, "And I have (...)'s!!!" and she pulled a packet of them out of the drawer, waving them around like a flag, because she's mostly playing at being a grown-up, too, only not so much as before. Not so much, in a good way. I'm so proud of her. And I know that å is aw and ä is ai(r) and ö is ur and hiss is elevator, so I'm proud of me, too.
I am a little sleepy now and I think it's time to crawl into the little Swedish bed and dream big Swedish dreams.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:34 PM | shower me with attention
I'm at LINN's APARTMENT (!!!!) right now and nothing on the keyboard is where it should be but it's so beautiful here. It's 11:30 at night but the sun is just going down. That'll take some getting used to... I doubt Kitana of the blackout shades will be able to sleep but who will want to sleep? I've been up for many many hours and I don't feel like sleeping not a single bit no sirree bob.
Linn met me at the gate in and we got on a bus and then we got on a train and then we got off and she lugged my lead-filled suitcase and led me through streets of pretty little houses and trees everywhere, trees all around you like an enchanted forest and please believe that this makes an impression on a city girl, and she stopped to pick some berries from a plant growing out of the sidewalk-- out of the sidewalk and we ate them and they were like tiny strawberries, but different, and then her apartment and her apartment is just exactly what my apartment would be like if I had an apartment, just exactly like it, down to the floor and the colour of the walls and the Christmas lights and the lanterns. It's an ideal vacation, living a fantasy of how it could be to be independent and have one's own place to live in and trees outside...
...and she told me about her (...) and I shrieked and she reached into her bedside drawer and shrieked, "And I have (...)'s!!!" and she pulled a packet of them out of the drawer, waving them around like a flag, because she's mostly playing at being a grown-up, too, only not so much as before. Not so much, in a good way. I'm so proud of her. And I know that å is aw and ä is ai(r) and ö is ur and hiss is elevator, so I'm proud of me, too.
I am a little sleepy now and I think it's time to crawl into the little Swedish bed and dream big Swedish dreams.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:34 PM | shower me with attention
Noon at Heathrow. Internet kiosk; £1 gives me ten minutes. Only four hours and twenty minutes to kill after that! Am trying hard not to go into W.H. Smith and buy Margaret Atwood novel. May not win that battle, despite 8 or 10 books in my backpack.
Euro cell works but voicemail is down. I don't expect it will be fixed anytime soon which could make for complications if I'm out of range/slow to answer a ring.
I am going to get to know this little terminal extremely well. Why do I have no friends in London?
Stop looking over my shoulder, little girl.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:05 AM | shower me with attention
Euro cell works but voicemail is down. I don't expect it will be fixed anytime soon which could make for complications if I'm out of range/slow to answer a ring.
I am going to get to know this little terminal extremely well. Why do I have no friends in London?
Stop looking over my shoulder, little girl.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:05 AM | shower me with attention
Tuesday, June 18, 2002
Is it wrong, is it bad that with all the new books I have to read, what I really want to do is reread Franny and Zooey?
I didn't used to feel guilty at rereading things. I used to read books five or six times as a matter of course. But lately it's been dawning on me how many books there are in this world that I want to read or will want to read, and how much of my life I've spent reading the same things over and over. So now when I try to reread something this guilt often prevents me.
(Not right now. Right now I'm not only rereading an extremely mediocre Stephen King novel, but I'm forcing myself to enjoy it, as an excercise to try and rid myself of this guilt. It's not really working. There's nothing wrong with rereading things. I used to love it. Damn me! Just accept the fact that you're going to die not having read everything you want to. Do you want to spend the time you have feeling guilty? And is this not the stupidest thing in the world to feel guilty about? Books is books is bookses bookses bookses!)
Anywhom. Mom gets home at 6:30; she and sis and I have dinner downstairs in the diner. Then we go to airport. At 10:30 I get on plane to Heathrow. Some hours after landing I get on plane to Arlanda, Stockholm. That's the plan.
Dunno if there'll be much blogging for the next three weeks, but time will tell. Just in case, Happy Mark day in advance, Happy Fourth of July in advance, and Happy Tavie Day in advance.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:30 PM | shower me with attention
I didn't used to feel guilty at rereading things. I used to read books five or six times as a matter of course. But lately it's been dawning on me how many books there are in this world that I want to read or will want to read, and how much of my life I've spent reading the same things over and over. So now when I try to reread something this guilt often prevents me.
(Not right now. Right now I'm not only rereading an extremely mediocre Stephen King novel, but I'm forcing myself to enjoy it, as an excercise to try and rid myself of this guilt. It's not really working. There's nothing wrong with rereading things. I used to love it. Damn me! Just accept the fact that you're going to die not having read everything you want to. Do you want to spend the time you have feeling guilty? And is this not the stupidest thing in the world to feel guilty about? Books is books is bookses bookses bookses!)
Anywhom. Mom gets home at 6:30; she and sis and I have dinner downstairs in the diner. Then we go to airport. At 10:30 I get on plane to Heathrow. Some hours after landing I get on plane to Arlanda, Stockholm. That's the plan.
Dunno if there'll be much blogging for the next three weeks, but time will tell. Just in case, Happy Mark day in advance, Happy Fourth of July in advance, and Happy Tavie Day in advance.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:30 PM | shower me with attention
PUPPY puppy puppy puppy puppy puppy.
I want a puppy so badly, so so so so so so badly, so so badly, so.
I want a puppy to sleep in my bed with me, I know they're a lot of responsibility but I can handle it man, I really can. Pleeeeeeeeeeez pleez pleez pleez pleez can I have a puppy?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:23 AM | shower me with attention
I want a puppy so badly, so so so so so so badly, so so badly, so.
I want a puppy to sleep in my bed with me, I know they're a lot of responsibility but I can handle it man, I really can. Pleeeeeeeeeeez pleez pleez pleez pleez can I have a puppy?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:23 AM | shower me with attention
Monday, June 17, 2002
She has DSL again! And she dragged me all the way back here to watch her install it. I never am gonna get out of here, am I?
Hee! Heeeeeeeeeee!!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:44 PM | shower me with attention
Hee! Heeeeeeeeeee!!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:44 PM | shower me with attention
Guess who left her big bottle of medication at Mint Manor? Guess who has to go back over to Jersey tonight to pick them up?
Stupid girl!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:54 PM | shower me with attention
Stupid girl!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:54 PM | shower me with attention
No Times Magazine and no crossword make Tavie something something.
(Go crazy?)
Don't mind if I do!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:43 AM | shower me with attention
(Go crazy?)
Don't mind if I do!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:43 AM | shower me with attention
Sunday, June 16, 2002
My Times Magazine has gone missing. Since I am the first one home I am going to assume that someone took it for the bus ride to and from Baltimore, and not that one of my neighbours has stolen it in my absence.
I have come to realize that I am currently at a point where I find a sunshower more engrossing than the weekend movie on the WB, and rainstorms in general more interesting than digital cable. I like it. It's a nice point to be at.
Today, I helped give Mint Manor a farewell dusting and polishing, a last glimpse at stained glass and shiny dark wood before my retreat to the land of blonde furniture and sleek, modern design.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:49 PM | shower me with attention
I have come to realize that I am currently at a point where I find a sunshower more engrossing than the weekend movie on the WB, and rainstorms in general more interesting than digital cable. I like it. It's a nice point to be at.
Today, I helped give Mint Manor a farewell dusting and polishing, a last glimpse at stained glass and shiny dark wood before my retreat to the land of blonde furniture and sleek, modern design.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:49 PM | shower me with attention
Read this now.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:27 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:27 PM | shower me with attention
Oh: here's a clue about the kind of security blanket I'll need on this trip: my carry-on luggage consists of the shoulder bag I use as a purse, and a backpack full of nothing but books.
Because if you're somewhere and you can read, then it's okay...
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:15 AM | shower me with attention
Because if you're somewhere and you can read, then it's okay...
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:15 AM | shower me with attention
I'm certain that one of my legs is shorter than the other. I'm thinking it's my right leg, because my left leg is the one that's all wacky; my left shoe always gets squished down to the side, my left hip occasionally hurts, I have been hearing a strange popping sound in my left knee. This would seem to indicate, as I believe Steve suggested, that the left leg is taking more weight, or something... he had a good explanation but it sifted out of my brain like sand through the toes on the foot of my sad, foreshortened leg.
If my suspicion is correct, I will be joining such great literary figures as Jem from To Kill a Mockingbird and... and... okay, I can't think of any more.
In other medical news, I am almost certainly carrying the next Messiah. It's been long enough so that I should probably seek medical help, and yet I don't, because it's such a bother.
Otherwise, I'm one healthy-ass mofo. ("That means 'motherfucker'," sez Mike.)
On Tuesday night I'll leave for my adventures overseas. It's my first time going to Europe without my parents and I have been having slight anxiety at night, as I'm settling down to sleep and get to thinking about it. So best to not think about it too hard. I've gotten this far by not dwelling on what was, so it's the only way to continue. That kind of anxiety should be in the past. I think of my hero and beacon, Kitana, doing all sorts of grownup things right now in Germany as I type, like meeting new people and talking to them and paying for things in foreign currency. But she's much more the grownup than I.
I will not be a self-defeating prophesizer! I have a large suitcase and ugly new sandals and foreign cash and I am ready to do this thing now.
I am not nearly as fucked up as I ought to be, ladies and gentlemen. Believe me when I say this is so, for I am recognizing more and more the degree to which my childhood experiences were abnormally horrific. And yet, I am somehow a Person Who Can Do Things and Have Fun Doing Them, To Boot.
For my next trick, I'll need a silver toilet and a sequined thermos...
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:10 AM | shower me with attention
If my suspicion is correct, I will be joining such great literary figures as Jem from To Kill a Mockingbird and... and... okay, I can't think of any more.
In other medical news, I am almost certainly carrying the next Messiah. It's been long enough so that I should probably seek medical help, and yet I don't, because it's such a bother.
Otherwise, I'm one healthy-ass mofo. ("That means 'motherfucker'," sez Mike.)
On Tuesday night I'll leave for my adventures overseas. It's my first time going to Europe without my parents and I have been having slight anxiety at night, as I'm settling down to sleep and get to thinking about it. So best to not think about it too hard. I've gotten this far by not dwelling on what was, so it's the only way to continue. That kind of anxiety should be in the past. I think of my hero and beacon, Kitana, doing all sorts of grownup things right now in Germany as I type, like meeting new people and talking to them and paying for things in foreign currency. But she's much more the grownup than I.
I will not be a self-defeating prophesizer! I have a large suitcase and ugly new sandals and foreign cash and I am ready to do this thing now.
I am not nearly as fucked up as I ought to be, ladies and gentlemen. Believe me when I say this is so, for I am recognizing more and more the degree to which my childhood experiences were abnormally horrific. And yet, I am somehow a Person Who Can Do Things and Have Fun Doing Them, To Boot.
For my next trick, I'll need a silver toilet and a sequined thermos...
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:10 AM | shower me with attention
