I have been awake for two hours but have done very little with that time.
Lucy wonder cat woke me at 5 am as is her custom. Some days she pretends to be uninterested as I go through the ritual of preparing her breakfast (as if she didn't just wake me up for it), but today she was all leg rubs and excited meows for it. Breakfast is a word she knows. It's the word I use whenever I feed her. She knows her name and breakfast. All other words seem irrelevant to her.
It is my day off so normally I would go back to sleep after Her Majesty's 5 a.m. feeding, and I tried to do that, but couldn't this morning. One fun feature of my ongoing health concerns is severe nausea sometimes. And so instead of sleep, I lay in bed, seasick on land. It's settling now though.
Last night at the bookstore, there was this kid and his dad. We sell these little finger puppets of mostly literary figures (Shakespeare, Jane Austen, etc.) but the kid had decided on a Grim Reaper one. He was holding it as I was ringing up the books and he asked if I needed to scan it.
Oh no, I said. I know his name as I was manually ringing in the puppet.
That sounds like a blues song, said the dad. I know death's first name, he sang in a little impromptu blues riff.
I'm gonna put death in my pocket, said the kid.
Now we are definitely writing a blues song, I said.
And for the rest of the night, I sang to myself:
"I've got death in my front pocket, I know his first name."
But no other rhymes came to mind.
Though know that I am thinking about it, a good line could be:
when death comes to find me, he'll be sorry that he came.
Which is good, but makes no sense.
Probably a more traditional blues line would be:
When death finally gets me, it'll be that woman to blame.
Or maybe:
Once you're friends with death, your life won't be the same.
I don't know. Moving on.
As I left the bookstore last night, I was walking to my car and passed one of the city's finer steak houses and there was, what I presume to be a family with the dad taking a picture of his wife and daughter in front of the restaurant. They looked well-to-do. That whole country club kind of scene. The wealthy in Oklahoma always seem tan and blonde.
As they were posing, I heard the daughter tell her mom "grandma always said to pose with your knockers out" as she straightened her back.
"That's right, said the dad, get them tiddies up girls."
That was very funny to me. But also made me think about my parents and how uncomfortable they were at any notion of sex or even having bodies.
And I wondered what it would be like to make jokes about your tits in front of your parents. And even wilder, to have your dad joke back about them.
My folks would probably also not make up impromptu blues songs with me either. Let alone let me buy a Grim Reaper finger puppet.
Which, as things go, is not a big loss, I suppose.
But I do wish I was more comfortable with the existence of sex and the fact that I have a body.
Weird to think how discomfort is genetic.
The nausea is back and worse than before.
I have much that needs to be done today and tomorrow and tried to hype myself up to be productive all day yesterday.
But right now, I want to lay in bed and read.
And so I am going to do that.
7:01 a.m. - 2023-09-28
Recent entries:
no thought do nothing day - 2023-10-30
I Read the News Today, Oh Boy - 2023-10-26
Get Down with the Sickness - 2023-10-20
Conflicted - 2023-10-16
A Dark and Meandering Path of Wayward Thoughts - 2023-10-08
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