Saturday, October 25, 2008
The space-heater in my bedroom must not be situated within three feet of anything, particularly, anything inflammable. Upon survey of my room, one discerns first the futon mattress on the floor. Next one may note the disassembled, wooden futon frame stacked to one side below the windows looking out onto nothing but the ivy that covers the side of the house. To the right, behind the space heater, stands a near-ceiling-high wooden bookshelf, containing at least two hundred books. On the floor, to one side, binders, documents, and more books (mostly dictionaries and writing supplements) rest neatly, if undecorously. On the mattress are piled six stacks of books and notebooks relating to my graduate classes and the section of beginning Latin I teach. If I shift heavily in sleep, these will bury me. If the space heater sets them alight, they will bury me in flames.
I spent the day reading about medieval archaeology and prosopography. At midday I broke off on a walk to the student recreation center, to read the first act of Kleist's Penthesileia on a recumbent bike, and then to swim about twenty laps. All this conducted in blissful solitude.
I do not like anyone.
Labels: archaeology, bedroom, books, bookshelf, flames, futon, Heinrich von Kleist, ivy, Latin, Penthesileia, prosopography, recumbent bike, sleep, solitude, space heater, student recreation, swimming
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:22 PM]
Got Your Higher Sneakers On
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Last night what began as an early-evening nap to revitalize myself for study became a fifteen-hour sleeping/tossing-over-in-bed fest. I took a break for about an hour to lie on the floor with my feet propped up on the recliner and the DVD player set on my tummy, to watch a few episodes of "The Twilight Zone" as I tried to drain the liquid out of my lower legs. As far as quarter-life crises go, other people probably have worse.
Birthday goodies received, 2008, #23:
from John: a hugOther birthday presents received included cards, dirty looks, and more food. Next year, I hope everyone sends toilet paper, for that is an expense I must make again presently; I have run clean out. For whatever reason, I resent paying for the privelege of wiping my ass. I used baby wipes at one point this year, but that luxury costs quite a bit more.
from Gilbert: an orange
from Michael: die Nachtricht, daß das Dasein eine Bedeutung hat
from James: an apple pie (which I forgot to take home)
from Curtis: a burger at work
from Tammy: a Fanta and chocolate fudge Poptarts
from Jenni: a book written by Kermit the Frog with lessons on life
from April: a screaming squirrel and an Oscar the Grouch journal
from George: a mood ring
Labels: apple pie, baby wipes, birthday, Fanta, feet, friends, hugging, Kermit the Frog, list, oranges, Oscar the Grouch, Poptarts, sleep, squirrels, The Twilight Zone
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:17 AM]
We Are Never Out Of It
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
This morning the rain beat thunderously loud on the pool roof, which, relievedly, drowned out the pop music station enough that I could kickboard along to my own imagination for once. The noise made me consider whether a nuke might have dropped; this then led to what I might do after nuclear fallout. Ere I paddled along, I glanced over at the other swimmers and wondered, if we were the only people on the planet to survive, which of us would be eaten first. I figured the tall bald guy would be first to get roasted, then perhaps the Asian.
I emerged from the pool and showered in disappointment that the bomb hasn't dropped yet.
Too tired after a three-hour workout to do anything else, afterward I read Doctor Faustus for German class for about three hours, sat through class (watching scenes from a production of The Ring Cycle and trying to pick out the German), then napped. Now I am at the coffee shop, pretending I am doing something dreadfully important. I might return to the Lair to cuddle with Kermie, for whom I never have to pretend anything.
Labels: bombs, coffee shop, Dr. Faustus, German, Kermit the Frog, kickboarding, nuclear fallout, pretending, rain, sleep, swimming, The Lauree Lair, The Ring Cycle, working out
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:20 PM]
We May Not Awaken You
Sunday, March 02, 2008
In lieu of preparing for exams and catching up on sundry coursework assignments, I spent the past three days sleeping, working out, and reading Benjamin. I also applied for a few jobs.
Now my tummy hurts. I may return to the Lair (from the coffee shop) earlier than I had intended, for the purpose of conducting a drug-induced sleeping expedition. Last night's sleeping expedition did not fare well- the wind howled against the building without relent; Kermie and I cuddled the tighter, but never settled into the comfort of full slumber.
Nevertheless, despite feeling extremely alert this morning, I managed to avoid reading Plato's Apology. I ate breakfast and somehow felt accomplished enough.
Lubbock winds tarnish everything, to include the shoes, encrusted with wind-blown dirt, that I threw out this afternoon on account of their over-worn condition. Ow. Sleep.
Labels: breakfast, coffee shop, dirt, job searching, Kermit the Frog, Lubbock, Plato, reading, shoes, sleep, tests, The Apology, The Lauree Lair, Walter Benjamin, wind, working out
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:55 PM]