I’ve been picking through my journal, the Moleskin one that I carry around most everywhere and into which I scribble long-hand musings, dreams, and fears. (My biggest fear? Losing the journal.) I decided to transcribe some random bits from the past summer. So here, with little redacting, is what I write about when no one is reading.
The First Wedding Dream
Last night I had my first dream about the wedding. Most of the guests were employees at [company where Mr. P and I met], though in reality we didn’t invite any of them. The reception was in a huge plain room with long tables arranged in a giant square. The only food was clear-broth soup in small cascading fountains, and people were sticking their bowls under the top part of the fountain. There were also basketball-sized balls of sticky rice upon which sat taper candles, and people were carefully spooning it into their soup. I introduced my Mom to Bev [accounts payable clerk who recently retired] and I remember thinking that they would hit it off because Bev was sort of a maternal figure to me when I first started working there. Bev complained to her about the presentation of the rice, and Mom asked me if any more food was going to be served. I didn’t know. I woke up confused, thinking for a minute that we really did invite Bev and all those other co-workers to the wedding. It was a prevailingly peculiar dream, with a touch of anxiety, although the presence of rice seems auspicious.
Empathy for Produce
Tonight we ate the first lettuce from the garden. I had started the lettuce from seed indoors, then Mr. P moved the sprouts outside, and they matured real fast due to all the rain. It tasted good, but what was funny is, I felt bad about harvesting and eating the lettuce that I planted and nurtured. Never mind could I kill and eat a pet chicken, can I kill and eat my lettuce and tomatoes? Christ, it would suck if I developed empathy for produce.
Pizza with Relish
I’m at Crazy Doughs in Harvard Square for dinner before French class. I’m writing this to avoid scarfing the two slices of delectable cheese pizza without measured breaks to savor and enjoy this tiny binge of junk food. Doughy, cheesy, vegetable-bare pizza on a Thursday night after spending the day sitting in an AC-ed office! I should be at Au Bon Pain with the other thirty-somethings, diligently picking at a salad. I’m surrounded by groups of college kids, all gangly and loud and eating their pizza with relish. Not actual relish, of course.
Literary Clown
I wonder if I will ever get the nerve to stop writing my website in order to concentrate on more ambitious literary endeavors. The website has become too comfortable and chore-like, and my creativity is suffering. Some days I feel like a clown, affably engaging in hackneyed verbal acrobatics, bereft of substance and true wit. Other days I can’t even muster that. Today I wrote about the Neil Entwistle verdict and wound up rehashing a discussion with Mr. P about the particulars of the trial. Ooo, so tedious and uninspired, so very very blog.
