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"a process of becoming"
Nov. 10th, 2012 11:20 pmIt feels like time to reread Anais Nin. Which will most likely lead back to Angela Carter, which is good, because I keep making false starts at Shaking a Leg.
The passage of time has mostly dulled missing History, he was a very important piece of my twenties, but I'm blessedly no longer in my twenties. (so far, my thirties are still better than my twenties, and I've got menopause, a mastectomy, getting dumped and my cat's death on the thirties side of the scale.) But, I do miss reading poetry aloud, and considering that a perfectly fine thing to do with an evening. And of course we were full of ourselves, but he stayed interested and kept pace and there were all these beautiful words other people had written that I wanted to share.
From this distance, even saying that makes me feel like a tool. But, if I were to have one regret about not reproducing, it would be the opportunity to recreate those endless hours in junior high and high school, babysitting the D kids almost every weekend and reading them all of the hobbit, most of the narnia books, Ronia the Robbers Daughter. (I'm sure there were other books. There was a lot of reading.)
The postcards fed that desire, and might still, but I didn't keep track of what piece of poetry I sent to whom and now I'm worried that accidental repetition might blunt the things I was trying to put out in the world.
This isn't where I intended to go tonight. I was going to talk about why we're in on the weekends so often, and what that says about me, or maybe the bits of talking to Bespoke that are still clattering around in my head (okay, most of), or reading fiction instead of non-fiction, maybe a little wry indulgence in the sort of nostalgia that's more about the stories I tell now than about anything that actually happened.
I lost most of today to a migraine, we had the best of plans to hit the MIT Museum, and then maybe clean a little, and then go to temple, but instead I just passed out after breakfast and didn't figure out what was going on until after a fitful afternoon not-nap while Light played Borderlands downstairs.
But now , delicious sleep.
The passage of time has mostly dulled missing History, he was a very important piece of my twenties, but I'm blessedly no longer in my twenties. (so far, my thirties are still better than my twenties, and I've got menopause, a mastectomy, getting dumped and my cat's death on the thirties side of the scale.) But, I do miss reading poetry aloud, and considering that a perfectly fine thing to do with an evening. And of course we were full of ourselves, but he stayed interested and kept pace and there were all these beautiful words other people had written that I wanted to share.
From this distance, even saying that makes me feel like a tool. But, if I were to have one regret about not reproducing, it would be the opportunity to recreate those endless hours in junior high and high school, babysitting the D kids almost every weekend and reading them all of the hobbit, most of the narnia books, Ronia the Robbers Daughter. (I'm sure there were other books. There was a lot of reading.)
The postcards fed that desire, and might still, but I didn't keep track of what piece of poetry I sent to whom and now I'm worried that accidental repetition might blunt the things I was trying to put out in the world.
This isn't where I intended to go tonight. I was going to talk about why we're in on the weekends so often, and what that says about me, or maybe the bits of talking to Bespoke that are still clattering around in my head (okay, most of), or reading fiction instead of non-fiction, maybe a little wry indulgence in the sort of nostalgia that's more about the stories I tell now than about anything that actually happened.
I lost most of today to a migraine, we had the best of plans to hit the MIT Museum, and then maybe clean a little, and then go to temple, but instead I just passed out after breakfast and didn't figure out what was going on until after a fitful afternoon not-nap while Light played Borderlands downstairs.
But now , delicious sleep.
