Actually the all-afternoon rehearsal wiped me out for the evening and I fell asleep on the couch while trying to write and had nightmares with sleep paralysis and am now awake at a counterproductive hour, so outside of music today really feels like a scratch. I tried to stave off a spiral by reading the internet for distraction and instead this development in the saga of Amanda Palmer vs. the Guardian set off the landmine in my head about the ex-partner who thought they could bully me into loving them and tried for several years to do so. I know a lot of my landmines are close to the surface right now, but I didn't need an extra reason to feel terrible, you know? On the bright side, the otherwise predictably appalling news of Ivanka's misattributed paraphrase gave me an excuse to yell to ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch, "ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE SAYS SOMETHING IN FRENCH THAT NONE OF US CAN TRANSLATE."
The other night I was rewatching The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm (1962), a movie I still love in parts even though a lot of the rest does not really work for me. The part I love most is still the frame-story fiction I remembered from childhood, especially Laurence Harvey cast against type as an A-number-one luftmensch, the dreamer who can never quite stick to his dull vital job, irresponsible with everything but a story. Karlheinz Böhm was playing the grammar nerd, but his charming disaster of a brother was the one who stayed with me. I assume he told me something important, like a love of stories being not just a valid but a noble calling, worth staying alive for in the face of hard luck and self-inflicted catastrophe. That may be true enough, but it struck me suddenly that I am not that sort of person at all. I have been demonstrably for years the kind of person who can hold down a job and support a household despite adverse circumstances and precipitous health (and the constant fear that my health will crash so badly that I'll lose everything, like I did once before). I don't think I have a knack for it. Does anyone? But it had to be done, so I burnt up a lot of the rest of myself to do it, and here we are. Naturally I resent it in the extreme. If left to myself in anything resembling a state of stability I would write a lot more.
Courtesy ofhandful_ofdust: a fourth-century BCE mirror from the Bosporan Kingdom featuring Skylla in battle. I like that sort of thing.
spatch, "ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE SAYS SOMETHING IN FRENCH THAT NONE OF US CAN TRANSLATE."The other night I was rewatching The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm (1962), a movie I still love in parts even though a lot of the rest does not really work for me. The part I love most is still the frame-story fiction I remembered from childhood, especially Laurence Harvey cast against type as an A-number-one luftmensch, the dreamer who can never quite stick to his dull vital job, irresponsible with everything but a story. Karlheinz Böhm was playing the grammar nerd, but his charming disaster of a brother was the one who stayed with me. I assume he told me something important, like a love of stories being not just a valid but a noble calling, worth staying alive for in the face of hard luck and self-inflicted catastrophe. That may be true enough, but it struck me suddenly that I am not that sort of person at all. I have been demonstrably for years the kind of person who can hold down a job and support a household despite adverse circumstances and precipitous health (and the constant fear that my health will crash so badly that I'll lose everything, like I did once before). I don't think I have a knack for it. Does anyone? But it had to be done, so I burnt up a lot of the rest of myself to do it, and here we are. Naturally I resent it in the extreme. If left to myself in anything resembling a state of stability I would write a lot more.
Courtesy of
handful_ofdust: a fourth-century BCE mirror from the Bosporan Kingdom featuring Skylla in battle. I like that sort of thing.
