Some random bits, serving to vaguely update my life.
The following is the sort of email I send A. on a fairly regular basis.
Nerd? Of course.
So, I write a lot. On my own. In notebooks and Word files stashed away. I tell myself it’s for myself, that I’m not good enough to share it.
Also, I often tell myself it’s my work, for better or worse. I am writing it for myself.
I was again jarred from this narcissistic position when I read this exchange from the AV Club’s interview with director-provocateur Michael Haneke:
The air started to freeze. I woke up on Sunday morning to go to attend a brunch. We had made noises about going on a run, yeah, because we’re tough, yeah, tough Edmontonians who embraced the cold. Yeah.
No. It’s a mystery. A man’s at odds to know his mind cause his mind is aught he has to know it with. He can know his heart, but he dont want to. Rightly so. Best not to look in there. It aint the heart of a creature that is bound in the way that God has set for it. You can find meanness in the least of creatures, but when God made man the devil was at his elbow. A creature that can do anything. Make a machine. And a machine to make the machine. And evil that run itself a thousand years, no need to tend it. You believe that?
— from Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
I felt a need to read this book again. McCarthy’s books are grim explorations of our nature, written in a hard, sparse, unforgiving language that still manages to be some of the most descriptive, haunting prose I have ever read. I do recommend reading this book, but steeling yourself against it. It is a broadside to your morals, to your inner order. But it is still somehow rewarding.
One of my favourite books of all time is A Christmas Carol. I read it every Christmas Eve (it’s only 70 pages, or so, long), and is the only Dickens book I found myself enjoying from beginning to end. Although, Bleak House has caught my attention as of late. And, oh, there’s Tale of Two Cities.
Whatever the case, I recommend a series currently running in the Edmonton Journal. It was suggested to me by A, and I’ve enjoyed the first couple of installments.
The line that gets me every time is when Dickens writes about the Ghost of Christmas Past. He steps outside the narration, telling us how Scrooge “…found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew [the curtains]: as close to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.”
After spending 15 minutes earlier today singing the praises of stretching warm muscles (and comparing my calves to, ahem, “upside down bowling pins”), I’ve spent a night massaging my seized legs into relaxing.
Stretching is very important. It is one of those basic, simple (and mindbogglingly tedious) things you can do that yields wonderful results. I failed at it yesterday, after some vigorous exercise. I failed to stretch soon enough and long enough after an intense, and really fun, spin class.
I’ve finally begun paying for it. I suspect the -30 temperatures didn’t help matters any.
I run again tomorrow. I will be mindful.
I thought Old Man Winter had overlooked these parts.
The weather had remained civilized late into the year, pushing into its final month. November was cold, but certainly not as cold as it could have been. But the final page on my calendar turned, and with it came the darkness of suddenly short days, and the skin-shaving cold.
Currently, it’s unbearable. A smile/frown/grimace plastered itself on my face this morning, as I hopped, turned and twisted, trying to find in motion some measure of warmth. The bus came quickly, and I gratefully boarded.
As usual, the weather stirred some forgotten feelings in me. I began to take stock.
On Friday, I had an opportunity to amuse myself, by taking credit for something I did not do, from someone who would get (very, very) cross if I did. I should mention, she’s a friend.
There is a talent to this. I had to finesse it in such a way that I did come off looking horrible and nasty, but still managing to conjure a response. Actually, I wasn’t going to do anything, but I received an email and, in turn, inspiration.
As it was, A. and I were on a date, the first we’d been on in a very, very long time. It’s funny. Once you live with someone, you forget to spend time with them. Or you mistake being in the same room as “spending time with them.” It is not the case.
Last Saturday, A. and I decided to spend the night together, doing what we wanted to do. Because we are rapidly entering into old age, our night’s plans consisted of going to places “where we could use these coupons.”