pantoum's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ETERNITY AND TANTRIC SEX I drove 510 miles today, to the mountains and back again for a funeral, after sleeping less than four hours for two nights running and working a fifteen-hour day yesterday, and cannot even describe how fucking brain dead i am right now. Wish I had some alcohol in the house because I would really enjoy a drink as I soak in a warm bubble bath. It's gonna be limeade for me though because I don't want one enough to go out and get it. Sat on the interstate for an hour without moving,* yawning mightily, and realized that even hip-hop wasn't keeping me alert, and so stopped at a Dairy Queen and got some caffeine—which I usually avoid—once we finally got rolling again. The Dairy Queenites were apparently worried about my soul, because they stuck a little pamphlet in my bag that asks "Where Are You Going to Spend Eternity?" I thought the answer was sitting on the fucking interstate wondering if I would ever get to pee, but turns out it only seemed like eternity. *truck fire • The editor teared up when she saw me and said she couldn't believe that I drove all the way up there, so now I am really glad I went, even if I am exhausted. (I remember how much familiar faces mattered to me at my father's funeral.) In the south, people pull off the road when a funeral passes and sometimes get out and stand beside their cars. Older men sometimes put their hats across their chests too. I had never thought too much about this tradition before but, when we were in the limo following the hearse to my dad's graveside service, seeing all those people stop their lives for a few minutes as a sign of respect really moved me. Today's service was high Christian—the kind of service that can break me out in Jebus hives. And the minister used a southernism I had forgotten about: it'n, as in "she it'n going nowhere without the Lawd" or "Bird it'n gonna like pretending to bow her head for another fucking prayer." The lyrics to Sweet Honey in the Rock's song Breaths—a favorite that my chorus performs—kept running through my head during the service: Those who have died are never, never dead. The dead have a pact with the living. So listen more often to things than to beings ... 'tis the ancestors' breaths in the voice of the water.... I would be happier if they expressed that sentiment at my funeral. Meanwhile, I remembered all three verses of all three hymns that we sang verbatim. Damn it. )When you think about it, at some level, it really doesn't matter whether I say I believe or disbelieve in an all-knowing gawd because my brain hears the word lamb and immediately associates it with the judeochristian gawd anyway, making him real to me at some level despite my cogitations). I drove back down the mountain in some seriously bad storms and very nearly wrecked my little beetlebug while trying to take a picture of a truck with one of those old-timey Bates Motel–looking hotel signs strapped to its side. Not a good idea at 70 mph. Talked with Computergrrl as I drove down the mountain, because she's back home in bed. She's slowly recovering from mono, but is still anemic and weak. I asked her if there is anything I could do and she said "Wave a magic wand and make me feel better?" I laughed and said there HAS to be a dirty joke in there somewhere. Then she laughed and said she knew my mind would think of one, and suggested that it include a couple of batteries. Meanwhile, Bird it'n going to be able to put together coherent sentences for much longer, so I'll post this interesting book description I came across the other day and call it a night. Have a meeting from 9 to 12 tomorrow, so probably won't be able to update again until the afternoon. So here you go:
Tantric Sex for Women: A Guide for Lesbian, Bi, Hetero, and Solo Lovers 10:35 p.m. - 2005-06-21 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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