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I just brought in about $80 worth of dry cleaning. The dry cleaner looked at this assortment form my wardrobe (regency shirt, 1910 military tailcoat, a goth/renn black and purple dress, etc etc etc) and said, "is this for art?"
Soeaking of art, after I finished DH on Saturday, I was under the illusion that getting some air would do me good, and I went down to Whole Foods to buy groceries. This proved to be a thoroughly bad plan that included an unspeakably irritating conversatio with my parents that focused on the dimensions of my suitcase and why I don't want to spend the night at their house before the flight. But on the subway, something lovely happened.
A man sat down across from me, one of those men who is probably forty something, but with a coy, cat-like face that makes him seem also 17, dark hair light eyes, wearing a pentacle and with a host of tattoos. And he pulls out the Harry Potter book and cracks it open to the first page. I look up, smile, look away, etc. We both do this any number of times, but I'm pretty sure he's just looking at me to figure out why I'm looking at him, what with my hair down and unkempt and the obvious fact that no matter how often I had washed my face, I'd been crying. Eventually, he pulls out a pen, opens to the insie back cover of his book and starts sketching me. Ah grief and grief and grief.
Patty comes home tomorrow. The house isn't perfect, and I couldn't get the cleaners to beat her here, but if all goes according to plan, my room will be organized and have plenty of room for her things and the living room will be clear. I just have to accept that moving is a chaotic process and I can't make this an instantaneous fairytale home, and as long as we keep doing the work, it'll be fine. And that also, tomorrow? Neither of us are going to give a remote crap. And buying curtains for the living room and furniture and all that is going to be fun.
It's pouring out. And the only thing harder than navigating NYC with a bag of fencing equipment is doing it in the rain. But, even with a hundred things to do here at home, it really does seem important that I go today and not just because it seems important every day. But I suspect you can't really take much more speechifying about kids books and honour and my weird obsessions today, so I'm just gonna say. Hey, rain sucks. Time to pack my gear.
Soeaking of art, after I finished DH on Saturday, I was under the illusion that getting some air would do me good, and I went down to Whole Foods to buy groceries. This proved to be a thoroughly bad plan that included an unspeakably irritating conversatio with my parents that focused on the dimensions of my suitcase and why I don't want to spend the night at their house before the flight. But on the subway, something lovely happened.
A man sat down across from me, one of those men who is probably forty something, but with a coy, cat-like face that makes him seem also 17, dark hair light eyes, wearing a pentacle and with a host of tattoos. And he pulls out the Harry Potter book and cracks it open to the first page. I look up, smile, look away, etc. We both do this any number of times, but I'm pretty sure he's just looking at me to figure out why I'm looking at him, what with my hair down and unkempt and the obvious fact that no matter how often I had washed my face, I'd been crying. Eventually, he pulls out a pen, opens to the insie back cover of his book and starts sketching me. Ah grief and grief and grief.
Patty comes home tomorrow. The house isn't perfect, and I couldn't get the cleaners to beat her here, but if all goes according to plan, my room will be organized and have plenty of room for her things and the living room will be clear. I just have to accept that moving is a chaotic process and I can't make this an instantaneous fairytale home, and as long as we keep doing the work, it'll be fine. And that also, tomorrow? Neither of us are going to give a remote crap. And buying curtains for the living room and furniture and all that is going to be fun.
It's pouring out. And the only thing harder than navigating NYC with a bag of fencing equipment is doing it in the rain. But, even with a hundred things to do here at home, it really does seem important that I go today and not just because it seems important every day. But I suspect you can't really take much more speechifying about kids books and honour and my weird obsessions today, so I'm just gonna say. Hey, rain sucks. Time to pack my gear.
