“Time is rhythm: the insect rhythm of a warm humid night, brain ripple, breathing, the drum in my temple—these are our faithful timekeepers; and reason corrects the feverish beat.”
I'm reading Ada.
I am exhausted.
I have been knitting.
I spent the day, restless and bristled by the apparent swarms of people lining up to ask me when I'm going to get a "real" job.
As though my current one was somehow just a fantasy.
As if I spent my days hustling or some such nonsense.
As if this line of questioning was both reasonable and socially acceptable.
I've decided to start answering it with my own question:
When are you going lose some "real" weight?
I still cannot access your blog.
Wordpress is demanding that I create a blog with them.
It will not allow me to choose a username.
It alternates between (the user name of your choice) is not available
and
(the username of your choice) already exists. Is (the username of your choice) you? log in!
I am unclear on why there is a distinction between not available and already exists.
If it already exists, wouldn't it also be unavailable?
I am convinced that it is personal.
But that may be the exhaustion speaking.
I will try again tomorrow.
I received your quote list, which for the record, is an amazing collection of literary snippets.
How will you be distinguishing between them?
Typography?
I am struggling with visualization.
But again, that may also be because my brain is more or less asleep already.
I will text you regarding this tomorrow. :)
Tomorrow morning I am going hiking.
Come hell or high water.
Tomorrow I will test out my new camera.
For now, I am going to bed.
ALL my love.
A very, very, VERY tired LittleFoot.
I am having some serious issues responding to your blog. Typically, I'm able to do this in bed, on my phone. However, the mobile version apparently gets its rocks off to letting me type long, elaborate reponses that deplete me of all wit, and once I click submit (when it should take me to a screen which prompts me to log in and identify myself), it erases it all. I even wrote about 1,000 words ranting about this before I realized that this was ongoing, and not an isolated incident.
ReplyDeleteI am now sitting naked at my computer in the dark, determined to respond. Naked is only useful information because it is cold, I left my bathrobe on the couch and don't feel like making the journey to fetch it, and so I imagine I look a little ludicrous sitting with legs crossed and back erect so as not to touch the cold back of the chair. A while back, my wireless keyboard must have finally buckled under Quick's girth, because it appears to be somehow bent in the shape of a cat's ass, and refuses to type. I have resorted to an old fashioned, very analog external keyboard. Lol. First world problems. I feel like it should be made of wood, the keys make so much noise. I feel like I'm stamping this message out with fucking morse code.
I love your post..."lose some *real* weight", indeed.
I am alone. Not like alone alone, but for the first night since I can remember, no one and nothing else is demanding my attention. Utterly frustrated by that shirt I've been trying to finish, I've even set the crochet aside (although I was knitting a hat for awhile earlier), and wrote for a bit, although I find this tedious and sad as I always return to the same broken ass subject matter. The tone and scope have changed and narrowed and broadened, but every time I write, I am trying to mentally rewire the broken robot that was My Life. Demand a reckoning of the failings of others and seeking atonement for my own failures.
Real weight. Ha!
It's almost your birthday, Miss Lady! Happy happy birthday! I wish I could be there! We would make a day of it--I would wake up at a reasonable hour...like 7, because who am I kidding, thats about as early as I'm good for...we could do bikram, which I'm still itching about, grab some coffee and visit a shoppe with two p's and an e, purchase something eclectic and unnecessary and invaluable, and then commence a drive to Havasupai...which I refuse to spell check because I am bigger than the mountains or the indians or their culture.
When I make my millions, we shall do these things. I vow it. My life's goal, at this point, is to save for an End of Days spree. And also, I will send my mother to Italy, as it is her dream. And a reasonable one.
I await camera uploads. Do as I command!
I wish I knew what to tell you about Wordpress. It's the devil. It should be tried by a jury of it's peers and flogged in the street. But it is inside the computer, and therefore safe. For now.