sekrit
I have a secret. A special secret just for today. I can't tell you blog because too many people look at you, you popular girl you, but you already know it because of our special connection. See?! Isn't that a great secret!? Francisco knows too but he'll probably forget by the time he reads this because he hates reading blogs. He reads this thing every once in a while as some sort of boyfriend-girlfriend pact obligation but I don't think he finds it the most comfortable experience. Heh.
My secret is even improving this dry office work.
Yesterday was super organizer lady day. I organized my house affairs, settling financial and uncomfortable social issues left and right! I prodded my burningman camp into action, cleaned half my house, threw away old receipts, and comforted the cat in necessary ways (she's lonely and needy and I try to prevent her from clawing up or peeing on my bed in female desperation, via cat massaaaaage). I didn't do my laundry though. I can always do it in NY I suppose.
I don't know why, after all this time of me living my life in competent, perfect-credit-rating ways, mom worries about me so. She thinks I'm eating my own shit or something. MY AFFAIRS ARE IN ORDER MOM. SQUARE BOXES WITHIN SQUARE BOXES. I'M VERY COMPETENT AT THIS GAME BECAUSE I FIGURED OUT EARLY ON THAT IT'S A GAME. ALSO I'M CLEVER. She's hinting at lending me money for NZ so I can go sooner. No no no no. I can't let anyone take over this thing for me. How will I sidestep this issue for 4 days of pure family time? I could always ask about her plane every time we start veering towards the future or finances, that usually works.
I think I read so many books in the fall and the winter/early spring that I no longer know how to read. I spend all my alone time stretching my body or looking out my window at the gangstas. Franciso gave me a book to read, House of Leaves, and I can't even look at the cover. I feel a little guilty. I know it will be an excellent book but I just don't want any more of that right now. Weird, huh?
posted by Vanessa @ 14:14
7 Comments:
One summer, I read a book a day for two months. After that, I read maybe two books/year. This was like eight or nine years ago! I think I'm just now getting over it. In the last three weeks, I've read three books. I too have House of Leaves, and have had it for like six years. I've still not read it! I started to like four years ago, but put it down after about 20 pages and never picked it up again. I'll probably return to it at some point, but it does just reek of that certain modern literary stench that tends to turn me off. All really dense and clever and excruciating. Too many words, not enough story. Although, that's not quite true: too much story about the inside of someone's head that is not fun to be in. At least for me. I'm extremely discerning about the types of characters (and people) in whom I'll invest. Woo! Disjointed train of thought!
Anyway, you should tell me your secret.
That book is intense. I too tried to read it and had to put it away. Too many footnotes! And appendices! And I'm not one who can ignore such things, though I'm told that that's the only way to get through that book alive. Who the hell wants to only half-read a book, especially if it's because you have to scheme to get through it? Anyway, it's got kewl formatting stuff in it and is interesting structurally and it's got a creepy-like premise, but I like my books the way I like my games: strategy-free.
You should tell me your sekrit, too. :)
Hey Joe, which summer was that? Was that the summer when it was so hot all anyone could do was lay there and sweat? I think I spent too much time in the shower and in a Flying Tomato cap that summer to read.
SEE?! Another Garcia's reference! Gaaagh!
Yeah, I think 20 pages is about what I did. That modern literary stench-tortured protagonist combo is a doozy isn't it. I'm glad I got over it when I read Infinite Jest though, because it's both a great book and a potential weapon, for those times when you don't have any large legs of meat in the freezer or extra-stale french bread.
It would not be ladylike to divulge that kind of secret. Anyway, it was a one day fleeting thing. Even I can't remember it anymore. In the back of my mind I know I've lost something vivid and beautiful but even that sensation is rapidly fading. Once I've forgotten how happy I once was, I can be happy again.
Man, Vanessa, if that last line of your comment doesn't sound like a tortured protagonist, I don't know what does. For the love of God, SOMEONE CALL ROBERT SMITH.
Can't. He's taking a bath.
Nah, it was the summer of '97 or '98. After reading the first three books of the lame-o Timothy Zahn Return of the Jedi sequels, my reading brain was broken.
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