my struggle now with jackie (that ghost i bring with me always) is that there are ten different directions in which i want to go. so i rotate between them taking a step here and then one over there and then another way out there. which, in the end, results in the slowest of slow progress. today i spent an hour writing the chunks left over from the disembodied chapter three out by hand. the result of this was ONE NEW SENTENCE. one. that is what i imagine people in the financial sector (that is, if i knew any) would deem a low return.
but it's progress, no? and we take progress wherever we can get it.
i'm still thinking about this. and about kaleidoscopes.
kaleidoscopes are the metaphor to which i keep returning (writing that, i suddenly feel like felicity in season 4, slaving away on that senior art project about piñatas that was destroyed when the art department caught on fire). because, even in just handing it from me to you, the perspective shifts infinitesimally. so that we do not see the same thing. though, really, do we ever see the same thing?
this is the best story ever. no really. it is. (and that wasn't a coy way of testing my theory that we never see the same thing... it was a flat-out truth!)
'Mr. Khorishko said there would be no special treatment just because the yogurt was bound for American lips. “We are a lawful country,” he said. “You should follow the rules.”'i mean, omg, right?!
k.lo's coming to town soon (and yes, this post has essentially just turned into my live journal).
lastly, after three hours spent curled up under a blanket by the radiator with gore vidal, i summoned the will to go to the grocery for a bottle of (my new love) beaujolais and a box of multi-grain chex. so this is dinner: