poison lead, goblet head

This morning I was filled with dread and melancholy until I saw a man in a full-length, acid-wash, jean coat. Acid-washed jean is the perfect antidote to fear and sadness. It’s so hideously hilarious to see it being worn. Noticing it blocks out all other feelings, if only temporarily.

I woke with the feeling that my head was a lead crystal goblet-poisonous and brittle-slowly being filled with liquid evil. A head cold is a-brewing, oh yes. The evil is running down the back of my throat and pooling in my brain and behind my eyes and pressing against my eardrums. I can feel it welling up, waiting to bust out in a torrent of fever and fluid. Gross. I should be at home, nursing my fragile, goblet-head with tea and wool blankets and an afternoon movie on TV dubbed into French but alas, I am at work. On top of everything, the menstrual tide of pain is about to break the damn as well.

I had a fever of a different sort this weekend. A sudden and burning desire for a brand new book. Borrowing from the library would not do. We went into town to accomlish this task, amongst other thrilling task like obtaining soap, earplugs(I curse you squirrel in the ceiling!)and getting new pillows. Choosing a book ended up being the last, rushed task before catching the train back home to hibernate.(It’s been insanely cold. Winter has finally arrived, with all of its’ might.) After some frenzied searching, I had given up hope completely, pissed as hell because I didn’t find a new pillow either and now, no book. At the very last second, rushing past a table, I saw a book by an author from whom I had a fantastic collection of short stories. I grabbed it without even needing to look inside and didn’t care what the price was (Lisa Moore - Alligator). I knew it was going to be good and I was right. Too good and I read too fast because I’ll have it done by tonight and then what?! It’s funny, I don’t even know the title because all I saw was her name and needed no further information and then I opened it and started reading. Let me go look…Alligator. Lisa Moore. It’s excellent.

Actually, I read it yesterday afternoon while the light changed from sunny day to dusk and beyond, until the contrast between the letters and the white of the page was barely perceptible. I was too lazy to turn on the light, so I laid there on the couch, watching T at the computer, totally absorbed in whatever he was doing. I must have stared at him for a good 5 minutes in the dark of the couch. He frequently looked the other way, in an obsessive-compulsively driven manner, to check that the fire was still burning but didn’t once look at me. He would have thought from the dark and silence, that I was either still reading or sleeping and anyway, once that dude is concentrating on something, he is like a zombie robot. I started to think, if there were ghosts, this must be what it feels like to be one. Staring and staring at the living but never being seen or felt. I tried to will him to look by using my brainpower, as I imagined a ghost would spend eternity trying to do, but it didn't work. Eventually, he finished what he was doing and looked to me and I was alive again. Just like that.