3.30.2005
Long Morning
Tuesday was sunny. I had a delivery from one university to another. Had a nice drive, felt like I took a gallon of gas and a cigarette and vaporized them both all up and down ponce de leon. Thought of places of relative plenty, where the oil and tobacco come from, and the little capillary of me, unwinding the spool of aerosolized toxins from Emory to Tech.
Spent the afternoon telecommuting from the crisis center. I sat at the second desk in the left office. Its pretty and clean inside, the doors are locked, shades drawn. The women there complain a lot. They're prone to various ailments... hyperalertness, stomach flu, obesity, bad mothers, ungrateful friends. All the calls I responded to were informational - no crises yet.
I had a phone call with my dad who is taking a trip to Italy to visit his girlfriend - he's wondering if he should charter a boat there, sail around the mediteranean. I told him to find a boat with a wine cellar in it.
Last night, saw the boy, who was gloomy and sick. I made him cinnamon muffins with too much salt - we pulled the sugary tops off and watched the latest daily show, then yesterday's rerun with the Reverend Al Green caressing the sofa to the sound of his own voice.
I drove home and opened the door on two squinting cats peering up from the unmade bed. Dreamt I was with the boy, but on the screen were his email headers - cheery subjects dated from 2004 from the dancer he dated last year, and his somber goodbye.
And it was a long morning. 2 hours of cats, vacuuming, construction workers wanting to know how to use the outdoor hose so they could paint. The boy sent me text messages in the morning - he had finished a book and sounded excited. I know I'm late when NPR switches to classical at 9AM.
And then work, where I very much want to sit on a hill and read a book instead. I have no sense of urgency, feel little need to do anything. Today's tasks dictate a people day - all my projects are stalled at points where I find people and talk with them briefly about quotes, specs, plans. But I just want to sit in the sunshine and read my book. Its about a current illness and an old war, dead doctors treating dead soldiers, sending them back to the fronts. The illness is a discourse, soldiers and doctors managing the decision to leave the front, return to the front, and when, and how. I like the author, he is cheery, he pities no one and he loves mankind, even in their anger and their folly.
Spent the afternoon telecommuting from the crisis center. I sat at the second desk in the left office. Its pretty and clean inside, the doors are locked, shades drawn. The women there complain a lot. They're prone to various ailments... hyperalertness, stomach flu, obesity, bad mothers, ungrateful friends. All the calls I responded to were informational - no crises yet.
I had a phone call with my dad who is taking a trip to Italy to visit his girlfriend - he's wondering if he should charter a boat there, sail around the mediteranean. I told him to find a boat with a wine cellar in it.
Last night, saw the boy, who was gloomy and sick. I made him cinnamon muffins with too much salt - we pulled the sugary tops off and watched the latest daily show, then yesterday's rerun with the Reverend Al Green caressing the sofa to the sound of his own voice.
I drove home and opened the door on two squinting cats peering up from the unmade bed. Dreamt I was with the boy, but on the screen were his email headers - cheery subjects dated from 2004 from the dancer he dated last year, and his somber goodbye.
And it was a long morning. 2 hours of cats, vacuuming, construction workers wanting to know how to use the outdoor hose so they could paint. The boy sent me text messages in the morning - he had finished a book and sounded excited. I know I'm late when NPR switches to classical at 9AM.
And then work, where I very much want to sit on a hill and read a book instead. I have no sense of urgency, feel little need to do anything. Today's tasks dictate a people day - all my projects are stalled at points where I find people and talk with them briefly about quotes, specs, plans. But I just want to sit in the sunshine and read my book. Its about a current illness and an old war, dead doctors treating dead soldiers, sending them back to the fronts. The illness is a discourse, soldiers and doctors managing the decision to leave the front, return to the front, and when, and how. I like the author, he is cheery, he pities no one and he loves mankind, even in their anger and their folly.
