How I Don't WriteThe Sophie Horowitz Story by Sarah Schulman. Prescient and wickedly delightful. Still haven't read this. It keeps staring at me, and I look away because it just seems like the kind of book that, once I read it, will likely set off some sort of emotional 'event.' Poster from performance by The National, at venue The National. If there were an unobstructed path between here & any otherwise unoccupied wall surface, I'd have hung this up months ago. (Saw show with kid. Interesting night.) One day's pop-out portion of old pill counter (oddly enough, not this one; I apparently have several of these lying around), from when I had medications scheduled four times daily. Like the tape dispenser, it's empty. Tape dispenser, empty of tape for God knows how long. Corner of my monitor from this PC which is presently causing me to bang my head against the wall. (Proverbially.) Books documenting Hurricane Iniki, which beat the living shit out of Kauai on September 11, 1992, establishing for me a pattern of highly negative events which tend to occur on this date. (E.g., came as close as I've ever been to being murdered exactly one year later.) Repurposed espresso can from last trip to Greensboro. A bag of pills I'm no longer taking (Lamictal, Depakote, and lithium), but needed their bottles so I could record their names and dosages for medical insurance purposes. Letter opener lifted from secretarial temp gig, ca. 2000. A shit-ton of packing tape, for no particular reason. Clearly, not a workable fit for perpetually empty tape dispenser in background. Framed photo I need to find an ideal space for, of teenager when she was little. Missing teeth on both top and bottom rows. Profoundly adorable. (I suppose I should scan and post it too. Eventually.) Booklet accompanying Led Zeppelin collection, the box for which - when my uncle's widow, also his cousin - gave it to me - was missing one CD. I ripped mp3s from the CDs and finally recycled the box. Since he MIGHT have read it, I can't bring myself to get rid of it. He'd laugh at me for this. The book I was talking about here. (And yes, I did just spend nearly an hour trying to find that link. What? It seemed important.) Prescription for Clonazepam filled almost 2 years ago. Still have 1/3 of bottle. Shrink died in February, and since I trust no one (he'd been an exception) acting in that capacity, I've hoarded my remaining meds. (Go, me!) Now, I only use Clonazepam for extreme panic attacks.  |
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Finding location...
Ks of W
says:
Thanks.
Posted 11 months ago. ( permalink )