(no subject)

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

Sylvia Plath - The Bell Jar

(no subject)

Today we stayed in bed 'til three. We played with the kittens, straightened up my crooked kitchen, and left the dishwasher running as we left for his place. I read Hemingway between laundry cycles and he got angry at computers. But his laptop is now an OSX-running masterpiece... with wifi and sound.

Sunday's are sweet.

Am I making something worthwhile out of this place...

The new apartment is coming along quite nicely. Perhaps soon I'll be able to take advantage of this new-found solitude and do something productive for a change. Perhaps I'll spend the entire afternoon avoiding my Illustrator assignment, listening to music and pissing around online.

My money's on the latter.