pantoum's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- COLD SWEAT Watched Oprah Winfrey's production of Their Eyes Were Watching God last night after the UNC/Duke game. Didn't remember the book well enough to compare the film to Zora's work, but it was a good production. The cinematography was well done, and lawd have mercy, that Hallie Berry is one sexy woman! I guess it's hard not to be sexy in a role about a repressed woman coming into her own sexually, but I gotta say that I would eat those strawberries with her any time. Unfortunately, the down side to watching this movie is that I woke up at 3:19 a.m. in a repetitive memory/PTSI* moment, drenched in sweat and immobilized. It took me a few seconds to figure out where I was and another twenty minutes or so until it no longer felt as if someone had put a thousand pounds of weights on my chest. I haven't had one of those flashbacks/memories/whatever they are in a while, but suspect that the gunshot at close range in the movie was enough to put me right back in the kitchen where my mother shot herself. It's weird. After all these years, I still know where every spatter of blood was on the ceiling and walls and floor and furniture and telephone. The image is just as vivid today as it was in 1979, and I still wake up immobilized by the memory. (Thanks brain, but I thought you understood repression) Ugh! I really hope I don't have another night terror for a very long time. I figured I wouldn't wake up at five for to exercise and I didn't. I did manage to escape for a nice long walk around campus on this gorgeous day though and plan to get out of here by six so that I can see a little more sunshine. Spring is here! Hmmm. Just thought about this line from Bob Dylan's Advice to Geraldine on Her Miscellaneous Birthday (which I painted on a room divider): When asked what you do for a living, say that you laugh for a living. And either I have some serious ADD today or I have spring fever or this here blog is determined to become a picaresque narrative despite my best intentions. NEW TOPIC: I'm trying to decide if I should make the difficult decision to advertise for a housemate. I have enjoyed living alone these past six months and know that I needed the space to heal and remember who I am outside of a marriage that I really did believe would last for the rest of our lives. Financially speaking, our breakup was at the worst possible time though. I could complain here about how pissed I am that the Ginger went house-hunting with me and said nothing about her affair when we were setting a budget that involved two people contributing, but will just say this instead:I had tied thousands of dollars up in the house before discovering her affair and had to vacate the townhouse in ten days anyway, and so decided to just keep the house and live frugally. So, is it housemate time? I'm trying to think of this in Tree's glowing terms: Well, she said, you are basically getting a list of single dykes AND you're getting to sit down and ask them about themselves AND you'll already have their contact information! In other news, there are several interesting new women in my life all of a sudden. Must be something in the water. Or maybe I just recognized that this casual thing with Buzzcut was a mistake and so am focusing my energies elsewhere. Got a date tomorrow with Fiddlergrrl and realized after hanging out with a new pal this weekend that I should ask her out too. Told her my thoughts and we agreed to plan something soon. There's a third woman who wants to go out with me too, but I'm still trying to decide if I want to go out with her. I am so damn picky that I'll probably just go out with all of them one or two times before deciding that we're all better suited as friends, but it's fun to flirt regardless and the attention feels good. Had a fun thought when I was walking today: I was thinking about writing a piece about various models from my anatomical drawing classes and entitling it Women I Have Studied. Then my mind went south and I thought but, hey, wouldn't it be more fun to write Women I Have Fucked? Or why not go whole hog and write Women I Have Fisted? La la la. * I call it PTSI rather than PTSD because I have these symptoms because of injuries that were introduced to my body and brain, not because of some intrinsic disorder of the body. 6:02 p.m. - 2005-03-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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