$1.31 (plus tip)
For the price of a cup of coffee, I get to sit in this big room with a nice view of the street & music with good sound quality. However, I don’t get to choose the music & I have no control over who else shares the space. So, for instance, a bent-over Austrian lady may come in & annoy me at any time. And the boys are only sort-of friends.
But still, it’s so much nicer than my apartment & I can stay all day if I want. All for the cost of a cuppa joe. You’d think I’d stay longer—but…well, why? Conversations annoy me. (I’d like to be even more contentious & disagreeable than I am: the little bear Randolph, who said No.)
And you thought Jung had his archetypes?
Oh, you didn’t. Jung never crossed your mind. [I’m reading Bair’s biography. Man, those Psychoanalytic guys were wacky.]
*
Last night I woke up with my stomach growling & so I’m hoping that my metabolism is speeding up & I’ll lose 10 pounds by next week.
I dreamed that I was watching Ray Davies sleep. I kissed him but only a little chaste, tender kiss. Graham Nash was over in the corner—this is from listening to “For the Roses” & singing in my Joni Mitchell voice. How long ago it all seems.
How long ago it all was.
Or maybe revisit the S.F. years and the Sex Program. [Lonnie Barbach & her nose.]
Revanche? Mais non.
Pithy. That’s the kind of entries we want. But also, there is no pith left in my brain; it is all xylem & phloem.
I have moments of mad spew, but the moments are not convenient for the writing down & my enthusiasm comes one size. Fits. Not starts. Then the weather turned cold & rainy & I decided No Good will come of anything I do. (Impersonal curse. My own fault.)
Last night I dreamed a movie about… well, there was a young man & all these labyrinthine plots that were supposed to come together (it was an Indie Film dream) — but they never did. Or rather, I got distracted (turned left & ended up in a hotel dining room?) & woke up before we could get to the climax. There was a deep trench. That’s all I remember now.
I want clarity.
Lion Outside
The weather, this late winter day: Hailstones the size of peas, scoured blue sky & clouds hastening elsewhere.
I’ve been reading a book by a twitty Cambridge
We hurry through the park seeking (but not finding) birds of prey. Instead we (all right, I) find a cat where never was one seen before, white with black nose, & that’s good enough for me.
She walks in puttees like the knight…
That’s as silly as I intend to get—for now.
The Moon or What?
Cold & (l)ionized & the moon rose scoured & smiling over the hill. A rosy cheeked lad cut a little caper on Broadway but when I remarked on it, he scowled & ran away. (Nobody appreciates Aunt Sally’s sallies.) Everyone else was ignoring the moon, probably because it wasn’t on TV.
I didn’t see enough cats & the book by the Cambridge
My prickles have been active, I don’t know why.
The wind stopped blowing & clouds fill the sky.
I need to practice speaking French if I intend to go to France France
There are possibilities. They are all odious.
Naturalists
JHY & I discuss our bad moods: what he calls an anxiety attack (I wouldn’t) versus one of my snits. But then, I wouldn’t admit to anx. attacks. Angst yes. (That’s disquiet [”inquiet” if you’re frog] with back of hand to forehead—& one eye in the mirror.) I have snits & fits (of agitated boredom). And sulks. (But also raptures.) (Like right now, would you look at those clouds: like illuminated smoke or solar ectoplasm streaming north. I wish I were a falcon. Hawk would do.) And then there were those 4 whatever-they-weres, panic attacks? The thrumming horrors. Oh, I’ve had the other kinds of horrors too…but the ones where dying feels imminent…No, I’d rather a sensual swoon, thanks.
B’way «Bux 3/7/04
Oceanic
As always in dreams, there is much between us & open water. The way is never straight or straightforward. It is never easy. There are structures. Old pleasure piers. Gas works. Mills. Half-ruins, and instead of sloping beach, rock-shelf & shoal, sand-bars, cliffs. And the water comes unexpectedly, from unexpected directions. I am always in a crowd, alone. I want the surf. The perfect wave. I want to see the ocean. At most I get predictions, promises, hopes. Some blowing foam or spray. Mood is always hope & frustration.
This dream was night before last.
Bway «Bux 3/9/04
Meteoric – or Viral
Meteoric changes in the sky (not meteors, weather) &, I fear, an ominous scratchiness in my throat. I’d ignore it except Alvia has had a bad cold & I sat by her at lunch. I hope it will burn off, and it may, as I’m having a hot flash (yes, still having those silly flashes. Not as many, but…)
The good news is that the specks on the back of my lower incisors were just stains & not cavities. I had no cavities. I wasted probably $100 on clean & check & $50 on bite wings (new hygienist bullied me) & didn’t have anything wrong.
Well, I got to ride a bus with 50,000 howling toddlers (overrated) & their women, and I got to view Lake Washington on a sunny spring day (nice & quiet).
Now I’m at the café & the coffee is bad & I forgot to go to the copy shop.
The hygienist said I looked like Jamie Lee Curtis in my OSHA-mandated dark glasses & short hair. And I said, “Isn’t she the ugly one?” Character.
Bway «Bux 3/11/04
Vaporous
What I mean is abstract, but I wanted a concrete word. If you know what I mean.
What the heading summarizes (encapsules) (balls up?) is my feeling about email, or what I think is my feeling about email. About keeping “in touch” that way. Abstractly in touch (Vaporous—like breathing on someone’s photograph.)
What I’m talking (writing, thinking) about is email. How my late morning desire for contact always peters out by the time I get to the library (the lovely, high-ceilinged Cap. Hill branch these days) at 4 & log in. I‘m always vaguely disappointed (whether I have mail or not) & never feel like replying, even to the very people I was thinking of so fondly at
Because email is not real enough? I don’t like talking to people either. What do I like? Griffins, unicorns, thunder eggs, fairy gold, missing lynx.
Anne W. said she had cats piled up on her porch. That I’d like to see.
Spring advances. Sunny this morning, overcast now. I went to get a haircut but Sean is too popular & I didn’t want to wait. Went home & snipped at it myself & now I look like a lady who cuts her own hair.
The rejections have been coming thick & fast, but at least the OHE job is done.
Dreamed Dad
It was Xmas & as I reached for a Frango or a chocolate, I heard Dad say something teasing like, “Go ahead, chunky” & I turned & there he was—really him. I knew he was dead & I was v. pleased by this appearance/manifestation & called to other family members that Dad was there & they all ignored me.
*
We were doing some apartment check (Anne Cavendar & ?) & the utilities had been disconnected & they were trying to put them back some weird way—I was nervous about this—danger of electrocution, etc. Then we were going through the building & Anne showed me something in the pantry of the other apartment & she said, “Lynn
And I woke up with my cold blooming like a field of daffodils.
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