January 17, 2005
(from "Sweeney Erect", T.S. Eliot)
Morning stirs the feet and hands
(Nausicaa and Polypheme)
Gesture of orang-outang
Rises from the sheets in steam
This withered root of knots of hair
Slitted below and gashed with eyes,
This oval O cropped out with teeth:
The sickle motion from the thighs
Jackknifes upward at the knees
Then straightens out from heel to hip
Pushing the framework of the bed
And clawing at the pillow slip.
That's pretty much me. I somehow managed to throw my back out this weekend, whatever exactly it is that that means. I spent yesterday lying on the couch groaning, getting myself stuck in positions from which I couldn't seem to move, and making plaintive requests for ice and Advil and help getting to the bathroom. The pattern so far seems to be that if I pretend I don't have a right side -- don't try to twist right, don't try to scoot right, and above all don't lean or roll to the right -- I can pretend to be reasonably unpained. It also helps if I don't try to get up much, because sitting or laying back down involves spending several quality minutes in T.S. Eliot land (I didn't quote the part about the shrieking, so you'll have to either look up the whole poem or just imagine it).
It's a good thing I'm taking such an exotic journey here, because I've run out of sick days from work and I'm now starting to use up vacation days on this. Wheeee! I'll write you all a postcard.
Posted by dianna at January 17, 2005 09:21 AM
Sorry to here about the back - like the poem though. I am a big fan of Eliot. I guess the bad back thing runs in the family - John, my dad, Paul - of course not me. I just break things - why do anything half-way I always say.
You know, Katie seems to have the same policy about not doing things halfway. She's broken the same arm three times, I think. Ow!
Thanks for the condolences. After looking up that poem I wound up spending several hours reading Eliot and Pound and snickering over their assorted forms of blasphemy, self-aggrandisement, elaborate despair, and general snickerability. It's a good way to squander a morning.
Feel better! We missed you and your gentleman friend at Balderdash.
jacob, with great concern last night: no one attempted to do dates, did they?
we need you guys to monitor us, clearly, because a date was disasterously attempted. hope the back feels better soon--try hammering your foot. (my dad's remedy for anything other than foot pain.)
Dates? I'm not quite sure what you're getting at, here. Delicious date bars were not eaten. It was a Mexican restaurant. I had shrimp fajitas. You had a lot of rice in a tortilla.
What's this date thing all about? Did it come up while you guys were still talking on the ramp? Or were you somehow more in touch with the other end of the table?
You really have to watch out for those Medjools.
Or... was it something *I* said? Did I try to prevent the date? It's all a blur. The world is spinning.
i wish i had come and had dates last night. if only kristen had travelled back in a time machine and convinced me!
what I should have typed:
jacob with great concern last night asked me in regards to balderdash whether we had attempted to do any dates.
Dates in Jeopardy is all wrong. Did anyone have any remotely interesting ideas? They didn't, did they? I knew it. We need to start a letter-writing campaign to get them to reissue the original game and save us from the temptation to do stupid crap like dates.
Why is Michele a zygote?
jeopardy? woman, who has been explaining this game to you? (well it is kind of like jeopardy i guess. i never thought of it like that though.)
date: december 16, 1976.
kristen's event: kristen travelled back in time to apologize to zygote michele for ever thinking balderdash dates were a good idea.
real event: the oldest goose in captivity died at the age of 49. no shit, balderdash. that's just great. i'm so glad we did dates.
(zygote michele, though she accepted time-traveling kristen's apology, is still a little irritable about the entire fiasco and the goose.)
...interestingly, i was not a zygote in 1976. i was an impossibility. i raise my tiny zygote fist in rage!
Blargh. My brain got scrambled from reading the front page of Cementhosannaheysanna where people were talking about Jeopardy, and also from hitting it with a hammer upon someone's advice. I wish I could remember whose advice that was, because I'd like to thank them profusely with this hammer I've got hidden behind my back, I mean no hammer at all. *innocent blinking*
it was michele! michele said the hammer thing! [points frantically]
Michele, Michele. Which one's Michele again? Oh, yeah, she's the brunette with the dark eyes. Yeah. That's totally her. Thank goodness my brain isn't so scrambled I can't recognize people.
Baby? What? Michele's pregnant, so I can't kick her? What?!
zygote michele's zygote.
(You were aware, right, that it was actually Kristen I was going to kick, or at least hit with a hammer?)
well, yes, once you said so. but i wrote not to kick the baby before your comment showed up. and i am a zygote and i am quoting south park and i do not wish to be kicked.
though i am not sure how anatomically correct you are if your brain is in your foot. you have me slightly worried.
Don't judge me because of my gross anatomical abnormalities, damnit.