Ernest Hemingway taught Ezra Pound to box.
Today: M's depressive episode only lasted an hour or so. Rain and too much gray. He's been numbing the symptoms but not the root. I didn't cry. Seems unfair to get all weepy whenever he's hurting. Which is a lot. Increasingly. Enough on that. Things fall apart and reassemble in a maddeningly tidy sort of way. Coffee afterwards. Kept conversation light to avoid being crushed.
Slept on a parking deck.
Marveled at the hysteria that is The Super Bowl.
Book exchange. I bought M FearAndLoathingInLasVegas and he bought Pound's Personae for me. Asked me to read aloud to him as we drove. Spring...Too long...Gongula. For some reason, Night-drives always strike me as poignant.
(Rain, scattered light, sexual tension and modern tempers. What else is there?)
Bought ninety-nine cent mason jars. M admits he likes shopping with me because the things we buy become relics of whatever we put into each other. I thought on this for a while. Humans are the only animals that covet, acquire, and give meaning to unecessary things. It's really strange how we take objects and pour ourselves into them so that the vessel becomes indiscernable from the thing itself. Romantic miscellanea. Everyone building their own little histories out of mere things.
Oh and Ezra never did get that left hook.
Today: M's depressive episode only lasted an hour or so. Rain and too much gray. He's been numbing the symptoms but not the root. I didn't cry. Seems unfair to get all weepy whenever he's hurting. Which is a lot. Increasingly. Enough on that. Things fall apart and reassemble in a maddeningly tidy sort of way. Coffee afterwards. Kept conversation light to avoid being crushed.
Slept on a parking deck.
Marveled at the hysteria that is The Super Bowl.
Book exchange. I bought M FearAndLoathingInLasVegas and he bought Pound's Personae for me. Asked me to read aloud to him as we drove. Spring...Too long...Gongula. For some reason, Night-drives always strike me as poignant.
(Rain, scattered light, sexual tension and modern tempers. What else is there?)
Bought ninety-nine cent mason jars. M admits he likes shopping with me because the things we buy become relics of whatever we put into each other. I thought on this for a while. Humans are the only animals that covet, acquire, and give meaning to unecessary things. It's really strange how we take objects and pour ourselves into them so that the vessel becomes indiscernable from the thing itself. Romantic miscellanea. Everyone building their own little histories out of mere things.
Oh and Ezra never did get that left hook.
No comments:
Post a Comment