2018-10-05

sovay: (Rotwang)
I am extremely tired. I am not sure how the end of this week came up so fast. I was almost literally falling asleep on my feet walking from Kendall to Davis last night. Nonetheless, I got through my doctor's appointments and one of them even went significantly better than expected. Despite yesterday's hell of public transit failure, [personal profile] spatch and I managed to meet for dinner at a pop-up crossover with Mei Mei being hosted by Mamaleh's, meaning that he had the kung pao pastrami, I had the lox on scallion pancakes, and we got a tsimmes-style brisket bao on the house. Tomorrow my family is taking me on a pre-birthday outing and Sunday I will maybe sleep.

I have been invited to participate in Providence's inaugural Noir at the Bar in November. I have obviously said yes. Chances are good that I will read poetry and nonfiction and talk about women and uncertainty in classic film noir. It should be fun.

The trouble with having the line "You have made the wrong choice, sir—as usual" running through my head is that I feel much more sympathetically toward Gilbert Norrell than toward the majority of our Senate, my thoughts about whom bend much more in the direction of dying with blood in their throats.
sovay: (Sydney Carton)
A male voice just went down my street blurrily and belligerently shouting something with a loping kind of rhythm which it took me the length of the block to realize was "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles":

They fly so high, they reach the sky
Then like my dreams they fade and die
Fortune's always hiding
I've looked everywhere
I'm forever blowing bubbles
Pretty bubbles in the air


He sounded really aggrieved about it, too. This is not, I repeat not, helping at all with my sense of remixed time.
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