really. i am so dramatic. it is like i must play out the theater of my suffering in public or i won't exist.
john woke me up this morning, wife-ng me, as we call it, with a green smoothie that had too much scratchy stuff in it, psyllium powder or spirulina. i say to him, very dramatically: is there any reason to exist today? otherwise i will stay under the covers with the a/c on and read romance novels and eat chocolate almond milk ice cream.
he says: you must read your draft of the essay collections, you can work on the novel, you can write your syllabus, you can you can...
these are not reasons to exist.
reasons to exist are: the new pair of jeans i bought last night. reasons to exist are: watching another episode of true blood or mad men. we went and bought me the jeans after the cleveland institute of arts called yesterday and said they were really really sorry but they thought they had the classes open but they didn't. so of course i needed to buy something! they are very slender jeans. i am in a kick now of wearing very tight clothes, i have been extraordinarily femme lately, when before i wore only john's clothes, or very loose pants or an endless stream of blazers. i am a hermaphrodite.
and then today a letter that ohio is appealing my unemployment as technically the women's studies dept laid me off although as an adjunct you are never laid off you are in a permanent perpetual state of suspension and i have to perform at a hearing and have a lawyerly voice.
i have woken up and i am a giant insect. more like a cockroach. i will live forever.
i have woken up in a bedroom and it is not my family brandishing chairs as i cower in the corner, exhausted of selling myself of traveling by train, it is the critics and potential readers they threaten to extinguish me altogether it is the bureaucrats the administrators with their blank lawyerly faces.
i should have stayed on hiatus. maybe every day i will announce myself on hiatus!
no literature read to report. i had ordered up all those theory texts on design, they will go straight back. a wonderful reader sent me the collected poems of bernadette mayer, a purple nd book with a butterfly, and a collection of mina loy, and a book of hannah weiner. i think i need to read like kierkegaard or something.