All the things that split us up are soft-spoken

[sovay]

This morning when I woke was full of sunlight and spring blossom against the sky; now the view out my window is full of slate-blue steel-lighted clouds suggesting either imminent thunderstorm or sorcerous apocalypse, although the forecast tells me it's just going to be cold. The cherry blossoms are doing their impermanence thing and covering a block of our street with small fallen fragile pink petals. I didn't get a picture of them, which is all right.

Yesterday the buses were so terrible that spatch and I just walked to Davis Square so that I could make my doctor's appointment and he could get to work, in between which we had bowls of different kinds of soup (boat noodle, khao soi) at Dakzen. Today I walked to the library to discover that my traditional route of access—a concrete stair up the hill behind the high school—has been blocked off with chain-link and plywood, which with all the GLX going around makes me instantly nervous. I would prefer not to have to feel protective about every single piece of twentieth-century architecture within walking distance of my house, especially since some of it is objectively meh. The library's on the National Register of Historic Places, at least. I am fairly confident Eleanor Farjeon's The Glass Slipper (1955) is a novelized play like The Silver Curlew (1953); it has the same feel of translated pantomime, although I liked the other, sillier, more numinous story better. Samuel Fuller's Brainquake (2014) was gonzo and now I really want to read The Dark Page (1944).

I have been sleeping very badly for weeks, but last night I zonked out at something halfway resembling a reasonable hour and dreamed of rafting down the Charles, which I don't know if anyone actually does. Then I dreamed of rafting down canals which are currently train tracks; awake I recognized one from the commuter rail, one from the Orange Line, both rather attractively framed between Venice-walls of brick. I hope that wasn't prophecy.

This first-century cameo of Minerva looks amazingly over everyone's nonsense.

Comments

[pameladean]

HER FACE. What a glorious commentary on so much. My face hurts in that position but she seems to have it where she wants it.

I am glad you got sleep and soup and I do hope you don't really need to worry about every 20th-century building in your immediate radius. When I read about the various demolitions I keep thinking of the beginning of The Bird's Nest. It is disturbing to one's psyche to have this kind of thing going on.

P.

[sovay]

What a glorious commentary on so much. My face hurts in that position but she seems to have it where she wants it.

She can hold that expression for all of us!

I am glad you got sleep and soup and I do hope you don't really need to worry about every 20th-century building in your immediate radius.

Thank you. I hope so, too. The whole project makes me uneasy.

When I read about the various demolitions I keep thinking of the beginning of The Bird's Nest. It is disturbing to one's psyche to have this kind of thing going on.

I believe that, although I haven't read the novel. Shirley Jackson?

[pameladean]

Yes, Shirley Jackson. Just to be clear, I didn't meant that you were likely to have the exact reaction of the protagonist, just that radical disruptions of that sort are not salubrious.

P.