woazers
Monday 11 December 2006 | I like a cookie
As the Brujo would say. I woke this morning completely clobbered, to my astonishment, almost as if pressed down into the mattress by a heavy unrelenting hand that can also somehow talk, mentioning to me from time to time conversationally what a genuinely terrible person I am. And it’s not because of last night, I think, which actually went mostly okay; any time I felt hurt, felt tears welling, felt the impulse to run away from the table and go hide in the bathroom, I took a deep breath, wiggled my feet, sensed the reassuring press of the Brujo’s thigh against mine, concentrated on my salmon and avocado and rice and fries (I love any restaurant serving rice and fries together, without apology)—and reminded myself repeatedly: This is not your fault, whatever this is it’s not about you, you didn’t do anything wrong. Invoking Cheri Huber, the Sponsor, the DBT, the Professor and Mandarin all in composite form. If I could have remembered any Stuart Smalley I probably would have invoked him too.
Yet today brings inner voices more weevilly than last summer’s wheat flour. The Brujo had to practically shine the light box in my face before I could move. Anyway now I’m mostly dressed and mostly upright, though the desire to lie on the floor and cry is still brimming inside. I wish I were someone else, someone extremely different. Mais attends—maybe if I make a list of everything I need to do, à la Mlle Bovary, one or two items on it will actually become possible, and I can use the strike-through for something other than eliminating self-deprecation! Worth a try.
email big-deal poet referrer #1
email big-deal poet referrer #2
email big-deal poet referrer #3
request transcripts (MHC, Cambs, BU)
pay bills in person (phone, water, gas/elec)
make cherry pie for landlords
sell wedding rings at Things Finer
call Cool Psychiatrist for more samples
finish filling out assistance forms
drop off forms at SSDI, HHS
fax Bristol Myers Squibb 2005 tax return
call SFEP to make sure all info rec’d
email glossy SF magazine for comps/clips
call Dad (Mom away for business)
call/email Recovered Zen Priestess, Ex-Sikh Wife
write book on care of the dying
EMAIL MANDARIN
Breathe.
Las fotografías are of a haggard, elderly Nina (sometimes named for the High Priestess, sometimes Netochka Nezvanova, sometimes playfully Nina Ribena) back in East Texas—surveying her damp mousie from Maman’s piano case, very pleased with herself—to inspire us all on this cloudy, girzled Monday.
Pyewacket, as it happens, will be joining us after Christmas. Here she is in characteristic odalisque pose. Notice paw resting lightly on broom-handle.
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