 Something Good |
Stacey reminded me of this beloved Sports Night quote recently, and it is apt. It is apt. My boyfriend's cat is safe following her rescue mission, and it is something good. Something good happened before that terrible week was over, and I am so happy she is here. I think she is going to be okay. It is a blessing. I had my first class two weeks ago, and it was pretty good. I was the oldest student in the room and was kind of amazed at how tiny they all were. I could have picked them up and put them in my pocket. The teacher seems cool. Class was canceled last week, of course, but this it week was on again. It's definitely not the literary, academic brain challenge I was kind of hoping for, but I'm going to stick with it even though people in the class genuinely seem astonished at the wonder of Eleanor Roosevelt as if they've never heard her name before. Oh, and did you know that Clara Barton was a nurse? Yeah. I'm going to be doing my major presentation at some point this semester on Eve Ensler. Is it wrong that I want to bring v-shaped cookies to share with the class and that I've already borrowed a v-shaped cookie cutter from my friend the kindergarten teacher who has alphabet cookie cutters? The other day I put on a skirt to wear to work that fit me last week. I felt somewhat like a hooker as it was insanely snug. I wore it anyway. I guess that's what I get for eating cookies, white beans and rice, chicken and sausage gumbo, lasagna, sandwiches on white bread, and slices of cheddar cheese nonstop for many consecutive days. I have been eating my way through every day. Partly because I don't want the food that has been brought by friends to go bad and partly because if I'm chewing then I'm not crying. This has gotta stop. It's just kind of sinful to be pigging out when so many people are hungry and suffering. We sent a lot of food over to the shelter, bread and PB and J and canned goods, and the gang at our commune has been bringing a lot of our stuff to their hardworking displaced colleagues. It's hard to know what to write about. There is so much sadness and worry for all of these people. I am so angry and baffled and confused by the way it has all been handled by the government and don't know who's to blame except I find myself filled ever with rage for George W. Bush and every single person who works for him who is pretending that it is all just swell and that everything has gone so fantastically with the rescues and that holy shit we didn't know this was happening and that's why it took us so long to get there. Oh, yeah. Yeah. Right. I can't think or watch too much about it because my brain seriously starts feeling like it's about to burst combustively out of the top of my skull and orbit the earth. My dogs are pretty miserable and want their yard back. I need to see about getting the fence repaired as soon as possible. Grand scheme, they are still being walked, fed, watered, and air conditioned, and they're about a billion times better off than lots of other dogs out there. I mean, just go to Noah's Wish even though they have kind of a dumb name and give them some money. It looks like they are doing a hell of a job saving the stranded animals. A reader also asked me to share the links for The Hunger Site and The Humane Society. I need to caulk some fascia where my roof was hit by the tree but have no idea what to do. I really just kind of need to get it together. Last night, I made Amy's apple crisp recipe. Even though I messed it up and mixed the brown and white sugars together instead of saving the brown sugar for the flour/butter topping and couldn't find the cinnamon, it was still yummy. Thanks, Amy. A faraway friend and longtime reader named Colleen has set up wish lists for children who have been displaced and are being cared for here. She wants to make sure that they have things to make them feel comfortable and also to allow them to have them a little fun as well as to have items that are their own again while they are away from home. The list for games is here and the list for books is here. Thanks, Colleen. Everyone's e-mails have been so wonderful. Joy, please write to me so I can thank you properly for sending the iTunes gift card to my boyfriend. The e-mail from Apple did not include your e-mail address. And Laurie, please write to me as well. Thanks to everyone who's sent iTunes gift certificates (he's already downloaded lots of songs) as well as purchased items from the little wishlist I set up for him. I've noticed that all of the available items have already been purchased, and the first package arrived the other day and he opened it when I was on the phone with him and it was so exciting! And then another one arrived! I mean, this really excites me more than you know! It's much more exciting to get surprises in the mail than to buy new socks at Target! I don’t know if he will ever tell me more items to put on the wishlist because he's not the type of person to ask for things like this, but hopefully he will, as I know many of you just wanted to send a token of moral support. (I mean, I know this because you've told me, not because I just assume such things.) I know that we are far, far luckier than so many people right now and would never presume to say these are things we need; these are just things to make him smile. That's kind of my mission in life right now, you know? And today a box arrived. And in the box were books and some more books and these books were surrounding something and that something was a CAKE. A homemade chocolate cake. A box of books and cake. Heaven. God, I love Gawker. And Glin. And will somebody please tell me that someone has found Snowball? I have switched from listening exclusively to AM talk radio for more than one solid week to listening exclusively to showtunes. Never have they been so welcome. This morning on the way to work I got shivers down my spine at the way Coalhouse sings the "o-o-o" at the end of "nothing for it but a ragtime tune on that piano" in "Sarah Brown Eyes." And all felt right with the world in that little moment. And then a song my sister and I love played soon thereafter and the lyrics went, "By your side I could be brave," and I thought of my sister and wished with tears in my damn eyes that she were here. I think I could be braver if she were here. Come home soon, sissy. Come home and visit and hang around people with whom you can share memories of the city you loved and called home. I have to believe that you will run in Audubon Park and along the street car line again. It is a huge relief to know that my boyfriend's house is damaged, possibly significantly, but not destroyed. Right now it's just really hard for me to see far past the little miracle kitty who loves to be brushed and whose poops we happily examine for normalcy and who once openly disliked me and apparently tolerates me well enough now to lie on the pillow next to my head and let me hold her paw like we're holding hands while we watch Eli fail miserably in his attempt to be a rock star on Once and Again. I say, "He sucks, my God," and she says, "Squawk."
About this time in ...
© Copyright 2005 elb |
I bought one of Jette's shirts. Don't you want to? |
