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mallorys_cameraI'm tired. Really, really, really, really tired. I woke up around 4 this morning from a dream that I was singing Racetrack Cuda with a jug band, and I couldn't will myself back to sleep for anything.
Racetrack Cuda on a Saturday night,
Racetrack Cuda, what a sassy delight...
Racetrack Cuda is part of the Cuda cycle I made up during the first two years of Max's infancy. I was one of those mothers who was constantly making up strange little ditties, lyric poems, and odd stories for my children when they were very young. I should have written them down or recorded them. Some of them were quite clever, and I can barely remember them now. Racetrack Cuda was not a major work, so I was surprised to discover I'd been performing it in concert in Dreamland, although Max -- nicknamed "Cuda," short for "Barracuda" on account of his prodigious appetite as a baby -- has been much on my mind of late in what we laughingly refer to as real life.
I have a date with Swain #1 in NYC tonight, which I am now actively dreading. It will be cold in NYC. I will be expected to keep my end up in sparkling conversation and inventive sexual perversion. I won't be interested in either, but needs must etcetera etcetera. I have to actively prod myself these days to do anything other than work, read, listen to dead Russian composers, eat chocolate and hang out with the KatZ. It's a sestina that's far more interesting than it sounds on account of my ability to amuse myself endlessly with my own thoughts.
Of course, I keep reproaching myself that I should be doing more, that there's something really, really, really, really important that I'm overlooking altogether, and that when I finally remember it again, it will be Too Late. This Important Thing flutters against the everyday clutter and minutiae of my life with delicate tendrils.
I suppose that's another reason why Life After Life appealed to me so much: I've always lived my life with the conceit that it was a kind of winnowing down of an enormous number of probability branchings. That car making that lefthand turn whose driver almost didn't see me in the crosswalk? In PDiL Life version 1011, that car hit me, crushed my skull, draggedd me 20 feet from the crosswalk. That's why in PDiL Live version 1012, I'm ever so careful stepping across that crosswalk, making sure that I make direct eye contact with that driver, waiting until he acknowledges me with a nod or an upraised hand before I start that walk. Ursula behaves similarly in Life After Life. She doesn't consciously remember all the deaths that came before, but she's weighted down with what seem like arbitrary cautions.
I think maybe I've just been too social recently. I like everyone I'm socializing with, but except for Jeremy, I find them exhausting. I don't know the people I'm socializing with well enough to do anything but perform around them. I'm an awfully good performer when I have my groove on, but when the current flows out like that sooner or later one needs to recharge. On that Meyer Briggs personality index we were always taking and retaking back in the day when astrology alone wasn't enough to fuel our solipsistic need for self analysis, I always came down exactly on the cusp of introvert/extrovert. The introversion instinct is strong right now.
Racetrack Cuda on a Saturday night,
Racetrack Cuda, what a sassy delight...
Racetrack Cuda is part of the Cuda cycle I made up during the first two years of Max's infancy. I was one of those mothers who was constantly making up strange little ditties, lyric poems, and odd stories for my children when they were very young. I should have written them down or recorded them. Some of them were quite clever, and I can barely remember them now. Racetrack Cuda was not a major work, so I was surprised to discover I'd been performing it in concert in Dreamland, although Max -- nicknamed "Cuda," short for "Barracuda" on account of his prodigious appetite as a baby -- has been much on my mind of late in what we laughingly refer to as real life.
I have a date with Swain #1 in NYC tonight, which I am now actively dreading. It will be cold in NYC. I will be expected to keep my end up in sparkling conversation and inventive sexual perversion. I won't be interested in either, but needs must etcetera etcetera. I have to actively prod myself these days to do anything other than work, read, listen to dead Russian composers, eat chocolate and hang out with the KatZ. It's a sestina that's far more interesting than it sounds on account of my ability to amuse myself endlessly with my own thoughts.
Of course, I keep reproaching myself that I should be doing more, that there's something really, really, really, really important that I'm overlooking altogether, and that when I finally remember it again, it will be Too Late. This Important Thing flutters against the everyday clutter and minutiae of my life with delicate tendrils.
I suppose that's another reason why Life After Life appealed to me so much: I've always lived my life with the conceit that it was a kind of winnowing down of an enormous number of probability branchings. That car making that lefthand turn whose driver almost didn't see me in the crosswalk? In PDiL Life version 1011, that car hit me, crushed my skull, draggedd me 20 feet from the crosswalk. That's why in PDiL Live version 1012, I'm ever so careful stepping across that crosswalk, making sure that I make direct eye contact with that driver, waiting until he acknowledges me with a nod or an upraised hand before I start that walk. Ursula behaves similarly in Life After Life. She doesn't consciously remember all the deaths that came before, but she's weighted down with what seem like arbitrary cautions.
I think maybe I've just been too social recently. I like everyone I'm socializing with, but except for Jeremy, I find them exhausting. I don't know the people I'm socializing with well enough to do anything but perform around them. I'm an awfully good performer when I have my groove on, but when the current flows out like that sooner or later one needs to recharge. On that Meyer Briggs personality index we were always taking and retaking back in the day when astrology alone wasn't enough to fuel our solipsistic need for self analysis, I always came down exactly on the cusp of introvert/extrovert. The introversion instinct is strong right now.
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no subject
Date: 2013-11-20 07:00 pm (UTC)Except I think I've decided that if I have to really put myself down as one, it's as an introvert. I need a process time for my life, plus I become so tired in a frantic way if I don't have at least one day a week by myself. Not to mention I ALWAYS find a way to carve out pockets of a day to be alone and prefer to be alone at night for quite a while before I go to bed.
I think when I feel most manic is when I've been feeding off of outside energy too much. Once, a boy told me it was interesting seeing me in groups because I "perform". According to him and a lot of other people, there is a SHARP difference between how I am in a group and how I am one-on-one. In one-on-one situations, I take the quickest route to closeness (varies) as possible, which is also misleading, though—because it leads to a TON of people thinking I am closer to them than I actually feel I am to them, and who then become hurt at not being included in the thick of my life when I'm in more of an emotional survivor mode. I feel like that doesn't really happen to you? Or maybe it's something that you learned how to grow out of?
Also, how dare anyone ask us out on dates when it is both cold outside and the SHAHS are back on the air!
no subject
Date: 2013-11-20 07:54 pm (UTC)I know, the SHAHS. I am still recovering from last week's fecal disimpaction, and Reza's hair when he went Porsche-shopping, and the discovery that RSVPing is Noveau Riche thang.
no subject
Date: 2013-11-22 09:32 pm (UTC)