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2003-12-14 Plain stress this weekend. Packing books and books in boxes. Reading Charles Dickens for the book discussion group. Random questions and discoveries interrupt me: What am I going to do with the couch? How do I hook a VCR up to a LCD projector with good audio? Boxes? Trucks? Christmas presents? How do I quit my job? Should I just not go into work this week? Where are we spending Christmas? The car needs its fluids flushed. A small frozen mouse under the sink. Gasp. Russ keeps kneading his forehead too hard as he prepares envelopes of applications for doctorate programs. Perhaps trying to massage the brain through erosion eventually. Some of these things will become overly prosaic. I feel like my apartment is a giant rubik's cube, waiting to align the white walls all with white and the brown boxes piled 3X3s in a wall in the porch. I think of Archimede's looking thoughtfully over my shoulder but not speaking as not to disturb the circles I make that he's so fond of. The solution will be found, even if it isn't geometrically beautiful solution isn't possible anymore. |