Monday, November 08, 2004

I am a Big White Toad

I had a great existential moment yesterday at, of all places, a Buddhist monastery. I was there by myself because Kai has a giant test coming up and needed to spend the day at the library. I spent a while walking in the woods around the lake, took a lot of pictures, and sat down after a while in my usual chair to write some vaguely metaphysical letters. It took me almost forty-five minutes to realize how completely pretentious it is to go to a Buddhist monastary by yourself to write in your journal. But after another forty-five minutes or so I realized that, really, I wasn't being pretentious because for the first time in my life I hadn't gone somewhere by myself to have people notice that I was by myself. Really, I went out alone because my whole house smelled like chili, I had just spent four consecutive hours knitting and watching Comedy Central, and it was nice out and I didn't want to be inside. Period. Even six months ago, if I went someplace alone it was at least half driven by a desire to have someone notice that I was alone. I don't know what that says, but most of me wants to say it means I'm a grown-up now, nanny-nanny-poo-poo.

I'm looking through the archives of the Journal of General Internal Medicine, which would be boring, except for the fact that I just found an article entitled:

REFLECTIONS: I am a big white toad.

Why, oh why can I not read the entire article? Maybe it's better this way; it's probably about something lame like chronic arthritis pain. Or irritable bowel syndrome.

I'm currently reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon. I am probably the last person in the world to read it, but still, I feel the need to communicate just how great a book it is. I'm only about halfway through, but I'm already having that what-do-I-do-when-this-book-is-over?! anxiety. I have a $5.98 copy of Don DeLillo's Cosmopolis waiting in the wings (thank you Barnes & Noble super-extra-clearance table), but I think I could only be truly happy if Kavalier and Clay just went on for the rest of my life.

I have fallen in love with Stella by Stella McCartney perfume. I don't own any of it because it's kind of pricey, but it's the best smell in the world. I've been thinking about it since my trip to Sephora with Virginia last Thursday. In other perfume news: Beyonce's True Star is foul. Apparently a true star smells like Robitussin.


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