News On Elephants
I have sought and successfully located Ganesh. Today is a day of news.
Good news: my grandma's abdominal aortic aneurysm has not grown. Neither is she pregnant.
It is my mom's birthday. Happy birthday, mom. I bought her a CD rack to match her living room and copied Herbert's Bodily Functions to take a bath to. Soon I will mail her a portfolio of headshots of all the good souls I've encountered in New Jersey.
It is also President's Day. I have no big plans to celebrate, though after dinner I might put on my white wig.
Hunter S. Thompson has shot himself dead.
I got free healthy lunch at work today: broccoli, carrots, squash, spinach, potatoes. A big bowlful. Now I want ice cream: Moose Tracks. Alas, moose do not track through this hospital.
Tomorrow my boyfriend will have his MCL replaced by one from a dead body, in his second knee surgery since early December. We will not get a complimentary video this time. Rats.
Saturday afternoon while reading Infinite Jest, in the middle of a paragraph about something else appeared the sentence: Some people really do look like rats. I underlined it. Yesterday I was standing in the bathroom with my boyfriend, both of us looking into the mirror. He said, "I look like a rat."
The truth: Some people really do look like rats. My boyfriend is not one of them. Some people really do look like horses, turtles, dogs of various breeds, frogs, monkeys. Comedic evolution.
As a person who involuntarily finds something somehow good in everything, in a matter-of-fact sort of way rather than a damnably sunshine-cheery sort of way, I hesitate calling any of this or otherwise bad news in contrast with the good news I began with.
Yellow roses are still in the air. Cinnamon moves through the air.
Good news: my grandma's abdominal aortic aneurysm has not grown. Neither is she pregnant.
It is my mom's birthday. Happy birthday, mom. I bought her a CD rack to match her living room and copied Herbert's Bodily Functions to take a bath to. Soon I will mail her a portfolio of headshots of all the good souls I've encountered in New Jersey.
It is also President's Day. I have no big plans to celebrate, though after dinner I might put on my white wig.
Hunter S. Thompson has shot himself dead.
I got free healthy lunch at work today: broccoli, carrots, squash, spinach, potatoes. A big bowlful. Now I want ice cream: Moose Tracks. Alas, moose do not track through this hospital.
Tomorrow my boyfriend will have his MCL replaced by one from a dead body, in his second knee surgery since early December. We will not get a complimentary video this time. Rats.
Saturday afternoon while reading Infinite Jest, in the middle of a paragraph about something else appeared the sentence: Some people really do look like rats. I underlined it. Yesterday I was standing in the bathroom with my boyfriend, both of us looking into the mirror. He said, "I look like a rat."
The truth: Some people really do look like rats. My boyfriend is not one of them. Some people really do look like horses, turtles, dogs of various breeds, frogs, monkeys. Comedic evolution.
As a person who involuntarily finds something somehow good in everything, in a matter-of-fact sort of way rather than a damnably sunshine-cheery sort of way, I hesitate calling any of this or otherwise bad news in contrast with the good news I began with.
Yellow roses are still in the air. Cinnamon moves through the air.
3 Comments:
My mother used to tell me that my boyfriend in middle school looked like a drowned rat when we went swimming -- looking back, she was right. Today's her birthday too.
happy birthday to both your moms.
Snoop Dogg definitely looks like a Doberman.
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