You don't need a pyramid. Silly Government.

So. Lately, it's been all about food for me. I'm trying to sort of cut out rediculous thinking/obsessing from my life, and food has been taking the place of real happiness for me. It hasn't always been about food. At one time it was about boys, and at another it was about music, and at another it was about wearing black lipstick. So somethings I've outgrown, and it's kind of nice that I chose lipstick and not tattoo ink, because if I was sitting here as I speak with the lower back tattoo I desired as a teen, I would be depressed. Ugh. It's so rediculous, I can't even write it. Sigh.

But that's not the point. The point is, I, like, I imagine, several Americans, like to obsess about things, and things are really not the point, are they? I like to fixate. Okay. I admit it. I like to obsess over things. So.

Do you ever wonder, like when you're trying to do something positive in your life, if you're always just banging your head (and not in a good way, Blythe) against a wall? I often feel like a wind up toy that imagines it's getting somewhere. Spinning my wheels. Like, now, I'm on a 10 day cleanse. There's no food -- just drinks. And today, on day four of this cleanse, I began to have dramatic energy, and my vision almost seems better, and I'm a little hyper -- and I'm thinking, hey, this is really great. I like having energy! And I'm hyped about how our culture is all about food, and about how we really live our lives around food -- and I'm thinking, this is great! Not having to have to think about eating -- though it is very hard, very hard indeed. I'm missing tastes and chewing and everything -- but I feel strong! And then I begin to think. And I think: Obsessing over food vs. obsessing over the absence of food. And on one hand I think b wins, because b is kind of happy and almost feels high at the moment, and a is usually grumpy and weak.

So I'm glad I'm on the cleanse, and I'm hoping that it leads to better health overall -- and I'm afraid of sabatoging myself. I'm really good at that. But I will go to the beach this week. I will!

Thanks for being there. I know this must be the worst post ever. Thank you for being a friend.

Yes. Light in August. No "a," no "the."

Just wanted to correct my error.

Sigh.

I was looking over my research paper from Blythe's American Lit class (I'm really not good at research papers. My research always seems a little -- half witted? flimsy? rushed? random?) and I realize that even though I wrote that paper in May -- I read those poems totally differently now. I look at what I wrote, and I think -- geez, I was really only seeing one layer, wasn't I? And poetry...well, I write an awful lot of theraputic prose, none of which is a stone's throw away from barely lyrical journal entry type writing...and I've been kind of a coy kitten about really jumping into analyzing great poetry, because I don't feel immediately comfortable with poems -- who does? It's not even supposed to be comfortable -- but, because it's so immeasurable, I shy away, which is rediculous -- REDICULOUS! because when I read my research paper I realized that poems are such a personal written expression that they take some getting to know. I read the poems I had written on again, and it was like I read whole new meanings. It was like, what did you write your paper on, you shallow halfwit!

Morrissey writes -- "has the world changed or have I changed?" and it's haunting, really, because the words don't change -- but I read and understand differently, and end up changing my story. Maybe that is why I get so conflicted about writing. With writing, especially fiction, poetry, you are never right. You are always dealing with conjecture -- and that's the beauty, no? It's just when I go to write essays, it's like I tell my brain -- okay, you are writing this to society, so you better dumb it down. Not that you, my dear, cherished instructors are "society," but you know, I'm trying to write this so anyone actually interested in whatever I'm writing about can follow my line of thought. But I never get past the tip of the iceberg. I know the Hemingway thing, about only giving the tip -- but when it comes to essays, you are supposed to go to the bottom of the polar cap -- you know, like the cores that they drill in the artic? you are supposed to go UNDER that stuff! (I'm laughing out loud) you know, where the fish dont even have eyes anymore.

I think teaching literature must be the greatest job in the world. I mean just reading those poems again after studying them four months ago -- I have a whole fresh take on them. Sylvia Plath keeps amazing me with Lady Lazurus -- which may be my favorite poem by a woman. And Neruda's poems? I mean, yes, okay, romantic -- but so heartbreaking. Of course, I have a little thing for heartbreak -- who doesn't? Admit it.

And animals? Animals trip me out. I mean, my cats like to sleep with me. They like to curl up in the crook of my arm, RIGHT NEXT TO ME, and sleep. I mean, human, human, cat,cat. I'm a human? Don't they know this? When my male simese, Roman, was a kitten, he was so small, the runt of the litter, that he fit in the pocket of my cargo pants. If I tie one of my sarongs into a sling, he will stay in there, right next to me all day. Um. I didn't just admit to carrying around my cat in a sling, did I? What I'm saying here is that these are animals, man! What do animals dream about? How do beings function that don't have language? Just instict, feelings, and some memory. Todd's Uncle, UM, thinks that it must be peaceful in an animal's brain. Maybe.

And you know what? I didn't apply for facilitator. I was really entertaining the idea -- but the commute just didn't...the drive...the hours...but let me tell you, I am a nice girl to have in the class. I won't let you down as a student. I'lll always have something prepared. Bible as Lit -- I'll give you my best. Early American Lit -- I may be sleepy -- but if I have that triple Americano before class -- which I know I will, because I will have to leave my house stupid early to beat traffic, and will have time to stop -- I will have questions, comments, etc. I should have been a fasiclitator a year ago. Dang.

And you know, I really am sad to leave after next semester. I'll probably still ask you for help/thoughts. But the big school should have some instructors that ring true -- but it's like I tell Tamara -- you guys have something special at Fullerton College. You all get an honorable mention in my book.

Absalom Revisited

I tore through the last few pages of Absalom, not knowing where I left off, really, and have started it over again. I can take in more of the details now that I know the plot. For instance, Rosa is only 60 years old when she tells her story, and I know that 60 in the 1920s may not be too young, especially for anyone malnourished during a war, but I thought of her as much older the whole time, like, 90. It's a very difficult book to put down and pick up again. It's like pausing Gone With the Wind, and coming back to it a few days later. Huh?

My in-laws are in town for the weekend, and I spent over $200 dollars in booze at Trader Joes...but, hey, I was out of lots of things, like vodka, whiskey, and Grand Marnier. Keeping a well stocked bar is an investment, especially when you have lots of family around. My brother, who I just visisted, as noted in this blog, is here this weekend, so they may stop in for a cocktail tomorrow as well. He's my sweetheart brother. 100% trustworthy. I love him, and those kinds of people. Who doesn't?

Since he and his family are here, with the newest member of our family, we are going to take a family picture on Sat. Great. I gained four pounds on the trip and have a weird cold sore on my upper lip. And the family fashion palate is brown and khaki. Fabulous.

I missed Ryan Adams at the Wishire Theater tonight. You blink in this town, and every great act passes you by. Things will be better Monday.

A Light in August

I don't know if any of you other than Joe have read ALIA. I believe it to be the best beginning of any of his novels I have read thus far -- although that may not be true. The Sound and the Fury is pretty phenomonal, but I don't know if you can really compare Sound with his other works. Critics often hail it as his most important work, and I'm down with that. But if you are just talking plain old novel -- which ALIA

**wait. I've been listening to NPR this morning, and I just heard that China has an overpopulation of males -- something something due to ability to determine the sex with ultrasound. That doesn't sit right with me. Don't you have to be at least five months along to determine sex? Does that mean that after five months of pregnancy, women are aborting females? OK, maybe I'm out of the loop on this, and this may be nothing new -- but that makes me sad. It's like a grief for femininity. It hurts my heart.**

is, much like Sanctuary, then the beginning of ALIA is incredible. I almost don't feel like the standard make-up of story, rising action, climax, falling action, denoument, applies to Faulkner. Even in his most acceccible works, there is more of an inverse of this. I feel like it's a sinking action, a deepening, and then when you feel like you can't hold your breath any longer, he releases you, only to maybe actually, watch you drown before you get back to the surface. I feel like Faulkner plays upon my notions of conventional mystery -- some unthinkable twist, some suprise -- with most of the plot. There's villany, heartbreak, stereotypes are explored, but he always gives this explanation for the evil that occurs in his novels as simple intolerence. And when he does this, he makes you feel the fool for ascribing any romance to violence, or evil. The whole premise of ALIA is intolerence -- and he doesn't really hide this, but he really drives home how intolerence is the cause for most suffering, and even shows you how you have been able to bear the story due to your own intolerence. You read a story about a black man getting lynched. There are many stories with this action at the fore. But ALIA puts together all the reasons, all the possibilities that could lead up to a lynching, and the question of why this action is so ineviltable is never chalked up to chance -- but always blamed on ignorant intolerant white people, and the chaos that their blind hate creates. He deftly includes love, religion, spirituality, poverty, history, and ecomonics into the mix. There were moments in this book where I had to put the work down, and look out the window just bowled over by the great, great, writing.

Faulkner also does this thing. I will try to get some examples, but its like he writes a sentence, describing some scene, and he will insert a definition into the sentence, and this definition is totally unneccesary, the sentence doesn't need the definition, it's like a sage whispering into your ear -- this is what time means, this is what love means, this is what age means. It's almost like there is a second narrator, a lexicographer of sorts, who is telling you the meaning of life between commas.

I don't know what's next for me on the novel list this summer. I may try American Pastoral, oh! or finishing Moby Dick. Hope everyone's having a good time.

P.S. It's strange now not to post pictures.

Day 20 -- NM to CA

We made it home. We left pretty early -- Todd photographed how lovely I am in the morning, how excited I am to be up.

Here's me whittling away the time on the road, doing what I do best -- blabbing. I know, I'm not using hands-free. Hey, I was weaned on cell-phone driving. Sue me.

Here's the car -- we made it many thousands of miles, and I should probably end this here, before I start sounding like Willie Nelson. I loved this trip! I loved the south the best. I want to go back soon. Our next vacation is in December, Cancun -- I don't imagine it will be as interesting, but it will be fun. Thanks for the ride, America.

Day 19 -- OK to NM

Back in Albuquerque. It is beautiful desert night. Stunning. I got about four hours sleep from last night to now, and I'm worked. I'm excited to get home, and tomorrow we may just power home. I'm excited to get home to Southern California summer. I want to get started on a juice fast, start surfing, read all my books...etc. So these stops on the way home will probably be a little boring.

We did stop at the Caddilac Ranch in Amarillo. We found a 1960 Series 62 Blade Top in the mix, just like we had when we were dating and first married. I wrote on the Series 62 -- but they look like they get spray painted all the time. There were a lot of Marine Corps symbols on them.