The only silver lining I can see about the construction that started next door at a legal hour of ear-shuddering sleep-wrecking—it began with a kind of road-grading machine that vibrated the entire house like a subwoofer—is that after it had gone on for enough hours that its processes had become merely too noisy rather than too painful to sleep through, I started to lapse in and out of very shallow bites of dream which were all set around the same apartment variously dealing with alien incursion, supernatural phenomena, obnoxious guests, which at least added an interestingly anthology-like quality to the experience of really not in any meaningful way sleeping. I still woke up in this capitalist hellscape advancing even further into totalitarian hellscape while playing clown car music, all of which is providing real interference to my ability to get almost anything done that makes me feel better about being alive in any kind of scape. Shoving through the crowd-packed night-streets of a Boston that can't have evolved from the demolition of Scollay Square in order to get home before a sort of extraterrestrial zeppelin tracked breathlessly like the Ever Given reached the planet's north magnetic pole must have been escapism, whatever it felt like at the time.
2025-03-25
All of the aforementioned being true, I had a delight of an evening with ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rushthatspeaks, spent centrally at the Malden Public Library whose eclectically deep bench of collections can be suggested by the two novels by Banana Yoshimoto he hadn't known had been translated into English and the children's novel by Elizabeth Goudge I hadn't known existed. We left with armfuls of literature—the Strugatskys and Charlotte Armstrong, Andre Norton and Janelle Monáe, Georgette Heyer and Jon Evans—and had roast beef sandwiches for dinner in the parking lot of Bill & Bob's in Woburn and ice cream for dessert from Honeycomb Creamery on Mass. Ave., which gave me decision but not brain freeze finally resolved by putting the honey lavender on top of the salted caramel crackle. I switched on WHRB as soon as I had dropped my husband home and got Belgian and then Hungarian rock from 1966–67. The moral of this story is that libraries are incredibly important and our next plan is to watch more David Lynch.
rushthatspeaks, spent centrally at the Malden Public Library whose eclectically deep bench of collections can be suggested by the two novels by Banana Yoshimoto he hadn't known had been translated into English and the children's novel by Elizabeth Goudge I hadn't known existed. We left with armfuls of literature—the Strugatskys and Charlotte Armstrong, Andre Norton and Janelle Monáe, Georgette Heyer and Jon Evans—and had roast beef sandwiches for dinner in the parking lot of Bill & Bob's in Woburn and ice cream for dessert from Honeycomb Creamery on Mass. Ave., which gave me decision but not brain freeze finally resolved by putting the honey lavender on top of the salted caramel crackle. I switched on WHRB as soon as I had dropped my husband home and got Belgian and then Hungarian rock from 1966–67. The moral of this story is that libraries are incredibly important and our next plan is to watch more David Lynch.