A Regular Day in May

I'm really tired, so everyone shut up.

It finally decided to be May here in Seattle and was almost to the point where you could say it's "warm" and the sun was out consistently. Not constantly attempting to evade Satan's minions (aka clouds). And what did I do today? Pretty much stayed inside all day. WTF?

My two twin Italian cousins who are ... 4? Came over today to play with my sister. Wasn't this a double-edged sword. Little kid mayhem, but, distracted little kid mayhem. So it was a sado-masochist bliss. Pleasure and pain all wrapped up into a whirlwind of princess dresses, bathing suits, buckets of worms (these girls ain't shy) and general other goings-on in the 4-6 year old realm. It was delightful to see...from afar.

Two of my aunts came over as well. How nice it is to be surrounded by people! And specifically people you like! Amazing what can cure an unemployed boredom. Anyway, it was a pleasant day. I also did a bit of active job searching work as opposed to passive internet research which is always uplifting because it keeps that dream alive that one day, some day, I may gain employment.

Otherwise, I pissed away some time on the couch dragging myself through Nabokov's Lolita. I borrowed the volume from a friend, and so, feel the pressure to return it in a timely manner. While, I enjoyed Laughter in the Dark the first novel I read by Nabokov, this second and arguably more famous work is much tougher for me to get through. Apparently, it was written in English (not Nabokov's mother tongue) and thus explains away the somewhat awkward tone and rhythm of the book, but in addition, it's topically about a pedophile. Which, I can't figure out worth a darn, why this is tripping me up. What do I care? I don't think of myself as a indignant moralist who can't at least read a book about something I don't particularly understand or care for. Perhaps, it isn't the pedophilia that is off putting about the book. Perhaps, the odd cadence and strange diction is enough. Who knows, I just can't wait to be done.

Plus, it's getting to be the time where I start actually dedicating active energy to sorting out what I might want to study in graduate school and piecing together a program of study. Which means, reading the work of people in the area. So much in the world, to learn and do. My my my.

My aunt asked me today (because Lo! and behold! I have a degree in Religious Studies!) a question concerning religion. Her children (the twin Italians) had begun asking her about who the first man (I hope they had said person) was and who built the world and who poured the first cement. (I like how that last one was added in there on the same level as the world, sigh. and they don't even live in LA).

So, my aunt was asking me to somewhat clarify the creation myths of the Christian religion and at the same time ask me why the particularity on Jesus in Christianity (are you less religious if you pray to God instead of Jesus? When did God become not enough?) Which are two ENTIRELY separate questions (not unrelated, but separate). And while answering her, I was thinking about how exciting that would be! How exciting to be at the stage where your children are asking YOU to tell them a Creation Myth. Here you go, here, you get to tell them, you get to create a Creation Myth (one of the biggest ?trope?s of them all) Creation Creation Creation. Think of the myriad possibilities that one could have with an innocent child asking you how it all came about. I would have a heyday.

That's about it on that thought because like I said I'm tired. I'm sitting here at the dining room table, the wall clock, clicking languidly stretching the seconds out as long as it can and the dim overhead light probing cautiously into the darkness of the living room. The busiest sound coming from the muted clicking and clacking of my keyboard. I can feel the distant rumbling of a fatigue headache rallying the troops for the onslaught against my forehead and temples. The freshly picked flowers on the center of the table aren't aggressively aromatic and I wish they were. Impotent, in their monosense appeal. I never feel like brushing my teeth.