pantoum's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CATATONICS Today I hate being an administrator, hate the fact that I am in a frigging black suit on a 98° day because I have to meet with a bunch of annoying conservative judges who don't know how to pick up after themselves. (Seriously, you should see the Coke cans they just leave all over the place even though there's a recycling bin right beside them.) I also hate that I am probably going to have to cancel my Adirondacks trip because several employees will be out unexpectedly next month and the buck stops with me. (Typed an "f" the first time, and am tempted to go off on a riff here about how the fuck stops with me too. Yep, step right up, ladies and gentlemen. Here's the woman where the fucking stops.) I guess I can always ask Filmgrrl to come down South during part of her three-week vacation, but the whole point was for us to get away together and to be outside.Her coming down here might allow me to still get a little vacation while I'm reachable by phone though. Stopped by the nursing home where an editor's mother lives today to pick up proofs her daughter was working on. Her mother is probably dying today and she's so sad. Took the editor a big cup of her favorite green tea from our snack bar and met her husband. Met her mother too, but she was asleep and on a morphine drip—a tiny, frail woman in a big industrial bed. I love the stories this editor tells about her spunky mother though, and am glad to know that this shell of her woman who is curled up in a nursing home bed with no memories was once one hell of a spunky businesswoman. Didn't realize it till today, but nursing homes resemble mental institutions. A dementia patient was by the TV screaming and rolling around on the television room floor the entire time I was there. I'm sure it was just spit, but she also appeared to be foaming at the mouth. Poor thing. Meanwhile, the other patients calmly sat in their chairs and watched TV. Very similar to those visiting rooms on the psych wards (although not smoky anymore, as they were last time I was visited my mother in one). The catatonic patients unnerved me more than the screamers. Gawd, to condense yourself that much, to hold everything in that tightly, and just rock.Some days I think that is what will happen to me if I ever completely lose my marbles. I will just quit believing in the world enough to react at all and will just hold everything suspended inside and become unreachable. Untouchable. The editor said it's not usually as bad as it was today, but Helen (the screamer) was having a bad day today.Poor editor, going there every day to visit her blank mother. Poor mother (her name is Ginger, but I sort of have an aversion to typing that name). And poor Helen, for that matter. I didn't realize that I couldn't just open the front door to leave, and so set off the alarm. JUST like the mental ward, I thought again—only those cigarette lighters in cages are no longer on the walls. How very weird. • My pal Coolio and I hung out on my deck last night, ate yummy Japanese food, and pondered the mysteries of the universe. (Well, mostly we talked about how we can't think of a single woman, partnered or not, with whom we would go out, but that counts, right>) Coolio said one of the reasons she likes me is that aesthetics matter to me. See, most people would have just put the carryout containers on the table grabbed some spoons, and said dig in, but you put everything—even our fortune cookies!—on china and got out cloth napkins, arranged everything just so, and, well, I like that about you. (Well that and my shoes.) Had lunch today with an archivist/director pal whose energy I just love. Such a good feminist. So enthusiastic and committed to her work. And she does such good work. She's so knowledgeable about women's studies and the feminist movement, so damn smart about everything, but it's much harder for us to get together now that I work on the OTHER campus instead of at the Gothic Wonderland. She told me that I need to know about Meinrad Craighead, so I am typing that name here so there's no chance I'll forget it. • Coolio told me this creepy woman came up to her after our chorus concert and was hitting on her. Not chatting, just walked up: "Are you single?" (Well the answer is a little complicated.) "Can we go for coffee?" (Well I'm really not in that space right now.) "Can I give you my number?" (You can give it to me, but I'm not in that space right now.) . . . . Ugh. I think I prefer celibacy. BEST OF SPAM (SUBJECT LINES): watch now live teen seex cams 6:00 p.m. - 2005-06-14 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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