I took Miss Clarabelle to the Anti-Cruelty Society this morning to get spayed. It turned out to be a late-term abortion instead. For all the inappropriate jokes I've been making about Clarabelle exercising her right to choose, I was kind of bummed that she really was knocked up. She had shots a couple weeks ago, so if she had given birth, there's a chance the kittens would have had birth defects. And if I couldn't deal with a litter of kittens in my apartment, I sure as hell couldn't deal with a litter of special-needs kittens. I don't deal with sad very well, you know? And God knows there are enough homeless kitties already. But still. I feel a little bit like a kitten killer.
Clarabelle did great with her abortion and is convalescing in my bathroom, on account of the post-surgery rules specifically including "no roughhousing." And you know how her big brother likes to roughhouse. She didn't require stitches, so hopefully her incision will heal quickly and she'll be back to wrestlin' with the Montenator in another few days.
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current book: I'm trying to read Destinations, a collection of travel essays by Jan Morris (originally written for Rolling Stone in the late 70s). Morris comes highly recommended by one of my creative non-fiction peers, but I'm just not getting into her. I'll try again when I'm not nodding off at 2am before I put it down for good.
current music: can't get The Stills' "Still in Love" out of my head
current socks: white with little hula girls all over them
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Walking through campus the past few days, I've noticed that there's something different about one particular quad. People walk through it and run in and out of the buildings that surround it, but it's hushed. It's still. Like driving through a school zone: all the drivers go 40 mph right up until the "school zone" sign, and they all floor it when their cars are within a few feet of the "resume speed limit" sign. But in the school zone, everything's in slow motion. Everything happens around you.
Flowers are blooming all over Hyde Park right now, and in some places the scent of lavender is heavy enough that you wouldn't know if you stepped in dog shit (thankfully this isn't based on personal experience). But this particular quad is greener than all the rest. The grass, the ivy climbing the walls, the trees–it's so green that everything else is muted by comparison. It's the same kind of green that alerts you to climb in the bathtub or the basement with your radio and some bottled water. It's the green that tells the birds to stop chirping. Pre-tornadic green.
It's how you know a storm is on the way, and that everything is about to be destroyed. Like my thesis. Like my closet.
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current book: Jorge Luis Borges, Collected Fictions
current music: Arto Lindsay, Salt
current socks: brown with lavender toes and heels, and white, silver, magenta, and lavender stars. AND… they smell like chocolate. Trust me, this is maybe the coolest thing EVER. Thanks, Megan!
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Last night I dreamt about… wait for it… wait for it… the Hegelian dialectical system.
Yikes. You know you're at the U of C when…
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