Louise Bourgeois, with her pencilled fragments, her text-woven art works, is one of my favorite writers (I know we share this, Angela Simione) and I remember reading her saying that whenever she traveled she packed weird clothes. I always think of this. I am preparing to basically have a house on my back (or wheeled, cannot decide carry-on luggage) for two straight weeks, my most intense part of the tour that will involve 10 days without John, the longest, by far, by far we've ever been without each other, and I'm afraid by the end of not seeing him and plugging into his body (I don't mean that sexually, the plug-in happens on the side, usually) I will be a wilted one-inch piece of lettuce someone will sweep into a gutter. Or I'll be fine and reinvigorated. It's difficult to say. I am still feeling some post-surgical fatigue which I'm treating with watching early AM Gossip Girl on the Internet as opposed to preparing for my quasi-thesis-defense with Chris at noon, and getting into involved phone conversations with salon owners about how my bangs (fringe) wasn't up to par with the last haircut, and yes, I'd like a do-over, sorry to be a pain, I know I am painful, at these times I am my mother resurrected, the one who takes no bullshit who barters who haggles and I wonder if that makes me a hag. I am also treating my post-surgical fatigue with vegan chocolate cupcakes which I inhale one a day, this is sexual, I blatantly lick the skirt of the cupcake afterwards, trying to tease out any excess crumbs, and refreshing my browser for coverage of Foxy Knoxy. Oh I'm so glad I'm beginning my tour in the land of Frances Farmer and Amanda Knox! This feels apt. John will be with me in Seattle and Portland we plan to absolutely pig out on vegan food. And I would love to wander around and follow the camped-out media gypsies from Stockholm and London outside of Knox's family home. I'm kidding. I'm not really kidding.
My loves, my loves, will I post here in the next two weeks? I would imagine I will post either diarrheatically or not at all. That is my guess. If you come to a reading (view sidebar) dont' feel it's wrong to ask if I'd like to have a beer or a salad with you, or to offer to drive me to the nearest Whole Foods. I will ask where the nearest kombucha on tap is. If you live in Los Angeles and want to see me you are welcome to pick me up in Laurel Canyon, where I will be camped, out carless. I know a very good or pretty good Indian restaurant in West Hollywood. If I see you in San Diego I might be white-sheeted exhausted, having Amtraked across our great West Coast a few times, and perhaps we can have lunch? You will drive? That would be lovely. You see, I have my 4-inch suede heeled boots on John has told me not to pack, and we keep on getting into *conversations* about it, because they won't fit into any carry-on I own with my practical boots and California sandals and slip-ons, but I need to pack them because they make me almost 6 feet tall and I walk with a sort of stoop in them and I looovve them. If I see you in New York I might be trembling and shaky or I might be absolutely fine. If I see you in Chicago, hope to see you in Chicago...The last two weeks of October will be spent somehow completely rewriting Part Two of Heroines, to get to Chris by November, to get to MIT Press by Christmas, I will be in Chicago both weekends Week 3 my goddaughter's (!) christening, Week 4 two readings, then first week of November Los Angeles again....sometimes I feel like I'm being slowly, slowly, roasted on a spit. I just ate a bowl of soy yogurt and granola and then found myself banging my head against the front windowed door. I found the repetitive motion quite soothing. Please in your reread of this blog post take out all references to vegan food as Chris tells me it makes me sound annoying. I answered: But I am annoying, Chris. It's one of my undoubtable character traits. She laughed.