Day-before-yesterday and again today, I slept until five p.m. I have no idea what's the matter with me!
Newman's inspecting the computer screen, noting the appearing letters with fascination. He was such a good boy yesterday at the vet's. We went there first thing -- I didn't bother to go to bed. Fortunately, *very* fortunately, he's not blocked. The vet gave me antibiotics, which Newman hates. He seems to be in better spirits though. I've read from a couple of different sources (the Holisticat group at Yahoo and Dr. Pitcairn's book) not to give dry food to cats, so I've put them on raw again. They seem to like it.
I bought some bumble-bee-shaped buttons over the net for a knitting project. The pictured bees were so cute! What I got in the mail were these ugly things that I could have picked up myself at Hobby Lobby. I'm pissed. But since it was only five dollars, I guess I won't fuss about it. I've resolved to paint the buttons myself and hopefully make something of them.
Sitting here ruminating about nothing in particular. I think Matthew Modine is so attractive. He would be the kind of guy I'd like to hook up with: handsome, but not explosively so. Him and Adrien Brody.
Wondering why I'm so fascinated with dolls. It's crazy. Maybe I'm crazy. But, a touch of craziness isn't necessarily a bad thing.
The first time I went to New York City, I made a point to visit Grand Central Station. When I walked into the concourse, try as I might to be nonchalant, I craned my neck, oggled, my eyes widened, and a big goofy-tourist grin spread across my face. Musta looked like a regular turnip-farmer.
Anne wants a pink-haired Sydney (from Tonner). So, I bought an inexpensive Ice Blue Syd, who comes with white-platinum hair, and I'm going to dye the hair a delicate pink (easier than re-rooting a whole head of hair). I think she'll like that.
I hate papers in English lit. I don't know what to say about books. What is there to say about them? I read it and I either liked it or I didn't. And if I didn't, chances are I didn't finish it. I mean, gawd. She didn't like my last paper because it was biographical rather than arguing a point. What's to argue? The books are in the canon, accepted as "significant." End of story. Comparing this to that or looking up the symbolism or some other such garbage eludes me. It's so stupid. I've tried and I've tried and I just cannot write that stupid paper. I might get an F, and that would mean a complete loss for this semester.
"The jacmanna was bright violet; the wall staring white...Then beneath the--Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
colour there was the shape. She could see it all so clearly, so
commandingly, when she looked: it was when she took her brush in hand that
the whole thing changed. It was in that moment's flight between the
picture and her canvas that the demons set on her who often brought her to the
verge of tears and made this passage from conception to work as dreadful as any
down a dark passage for a child. Such she often felt herself--struggling
against terrific odds to maintain her courage; to say: "But this is what I
see; this is what I see," and so to clasp some miserable remnant of her vision
to her breast, which a thousand forces did their best to pluck from her.
And it was then too, in that chill and windy way, as she began to paint, that
there forced themselves upon her other things, her own inadequacy, her
insignificance ..."
I love that description of creativity -- it's so true.
Tomorrow I'm going to see my bro and his family. He has a 'puter of course, and I'll check my email there and stuff, but I can't blog from there; I don't want to leave any traces behind. Hope I have a good visit. My horoscope says not to say something I'll regret, which I tend to do, so I'll be vigilant.
posted by Newpeep, N.D. (neurotic depressive) @ 11:09 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home