Meetings

Attend two meetings, first in morning and has to do with proper procedures for filling out expense reports, which don't care about and in which draw very handsome portrait of Abe Lincoln (drawing began its life as sketch of secretary from provosts office, but fingers caused face to turn long and for nose to grow beaky added stove top hat to save). Next meeting in office, with New Man and Vice-Boss. The Contessa sits next to door to Get the Phones. In first few seconds of meeting, phone rings and she escapes. Later, hear her talking and laughing. Vice-Boss and New Man enter into strange disucssion about rodents (meeting purports to be about spring schedule). The Vice-Boss says she is not afraid of mice At All and the new man agrees. Vice-Boss (am not surprised to learn) kept pet rat when young (name of Mr. Nibbles). Memories of Mr. Nibbles and Honey (boyhood golden retriever of New Man) shared at length. Draw dog, which intend to look like Golden Retriever but which ends up looking more like hairbrush.

Clothing

Very trying morning. For barest fraction of second, far corner of shower curtain flops itself out on wrong side tub. Bathroom floor suffers deluge totally out of proportion to amount of time shower curtain spent awry and contradicts laws of water flow. Jenny tries to help by licking up water but her method very slow. Use three large bath towels to soak up mess. Become very grumpy. Open closet door. Survey of clothes does not improve mood. Put on dark pants, light blue t shirt, and dark sweater with wide neck. Finish off outfit with gray courdouroy jacket. Look into mirror. See with horror that blue t-shirt looks white under sweater and that appear Clerical. Fling off top elements. Find shirt. Button up. Shirt feels a bit tight under arms but will most likely work as long as don't need to reach for anything up high. (In retrospect, see that attitude delusionally optimistic -- if am honest with self, a not infrequent state and probably indicating mental illness to come.) Glance in mirror reveals buttons looking as though they are going to pop off chest portion of shirt, which is not at all flattering (note: must go to Paragon immedately so that excuse of not having goggles no longer conveninetly prevents from going to pool.) Settle on Army green pants, sweater, same gray coat, and, as it is raining, duck boots. Look into mirror with severe trepidation. See that all need to complete outfit is jaunty tweed cap and shotgun -- would look exactly as though getting ready to shoot pheasant. Stifle scream. From bed, Dave asks, What are you stomping around for? Do not care for his choice of words -- makes feel am large animal -- tell him that Hate all clothes. After too long pause he says, I think you look fine. Both of us know that this is not strictly the truth, but as am late, say, Tally Ho in English accent, which am immediately mortified by.

The Copy Machine, Part 59

This morning clean desk with extreme (and never to be seen again) efficiency. The Contessa watches. At one point says that I am moving too fast. Say, What does that mean? (while scrubbing vigorously at coffee stain on formica) Says that the activity is making her dizzy. Ask her if there is something else that is making her dizzy. Admits that she drank the better part of bottle of Modavian dessert wine discovered at back of closet -- says she thinks somebody brought it over to party last year and she hid it for a rainy day. Wine very tasty, like warm herbs and it even enabled her to watch Desperate Housewives and not want to throw things at the tv, but now she is dizzy and depressed. Sighs. Says she'd better go make copies of packets for the Vice-Boss's presentation to Dean. Comes back with hand on forehead. Very red. Says, Now she is dizzy, depressed, and the copy machine is broken. Am still infused with sense of efficiency, so march back to copy room. Confirm diagnosis. Fix copy machine with firm look. Firm look fails. (Question: how, after long weekend of rest, is machine broken? Would like to think it is Spite, but am trying not to give human attributes to inanimate objects.) Begin to feel dizzy and depressed too even though drank only seltzer night before. Call Minolta. Several hours later man with moustache comes into office asking for copy machine. The Contessa asks, where is Romeo? Romeo, the mustachioed man says, was only pretending to fix the machine. (Enter existential train of thought -- if machine worked after Romeo leaves, how was it not fixed?) The Contessa says, Poor Romeo. Ask her if she knows what pretending to fix the machine means. She says No. She frowns. Says, It is probably a euphamism for selling drugs. Or running a prostitution ring. Says darkly, She doesn't care about that -- now there is one less man to flirt with. This an extremely revisionist view of the past. Do not remind her that once when Romeo came she went to the bathroom and hid for half an hour.

Nightmare & Hope

Wake up this morning from very upsetting dream in which the Vice-Boss announces that there is to be a reorganization of office. My new job is to help her write her Memoir. Understand from the arrangement of her facial features that she means that her sole contribution will be dictation. I will take down the dictation and do all the editing. Also, my desk is to be exchanged for model which coverts into Bed. In dream compose speech in head in which demand substantial raise for what is clearly unprecedented augmentation of job duties. (This mornign am very angry that unable to present composed speech in dream. Question: does socialization prevent one from behaving impolitely even in dream? Answer: Mostly -- except when engaged in perverted sexual acts -- yes). Open eyes. Jenny not in bed. Get up. In living room, discover Jenny nestled next to Sigrid. Sigrid sits bolt upright in sofa bed. Looks at me piercingly. Says, I would kill for a cup of coffee. Please make the coffee so I can at least Smell it. Agree to do so. Jenny follows into kitchen. (Give Jenny food and water but tell her that if she consumes, she must also go on Walks. Day before yesterday, Refused to go out into the cold and then peed on floor of hall closet.) Bring cup of coffee back to Sigrid. Sigrid holds coffee mug in hand and sniffs vigorously. Is not drinking coffee because she is pregnant. Made announcement immediately before thanksgiving dinner, which led to much celebration. (Sigrid drank Pellegrino, and husband, in bracing loyalty, did same. Dave and I, however, took care to make sure that no wine went to waste, drinking Sigrid and husband's share plus two servings of Eau de Vie after dinner. Extremely bad mistake. Memo: if after-dinner drinks begin to seem like a good idea, immediately lock liquor cabinet.) Evening ended with me next to Sigrid on couch. Have hand on her stomach. Tell her that think can feel the Baby kick. Says she doubts it as fetus only two months but maintain that little niece (or nephew) aware of presence.

Turkey

(Note to self: in future, if need to transport frozen turkey, 2 cartons of Brussels sprouts, 2 packages of cranberries, butter, cream, potatoes, pancetta (for Brussels sprouts), salad greens, from Manhattan to Brooklyn, take cab.) Last night, in very vexing example of miscommunication, Dave arrives home with own twenty pound turkey and piles of Brussels sprouts procured from greenmarket and still on stalks. Refrigerator severely overloaded and one turkey unable to fit. Take everything out of refrigerator and rearrange. Get hot. Discover Jennie under kitchen table eating stick of butter. Scold in raised voice which causes Jenny to hide under bed and whimper. Feel extremely guilty. Sigrid calls from cab on way to apartment. Says she forgot to metion it before but to not worry about turkey. She's had a deep fried version sent from San Francisco (why? Feel bitter rush of memories of similar high-handed behavior.) Do not want to start visit off on wrong foot, so don't mention what is quickly becoming gaggle. Dave says he will take one of turkeys (am irrationally hurt when he chooses mine) to Salvation Army. This solves problem with room in refrigerator. Dave takes turkey away. Jenny forgets that she is afraid and comes back into kitchen to beg. Call wine store and order case.

Imagination

Yesterday evening while waiting for train, have sudden realization that if wanted to, could Leap from one side of platform, across tracks to other side (which is an abandoned platform, floor very very dirty). See that this is a bit unrealistic--could only accomplish if actually had to jump across, i.e. if was being chased by somebody. If was being chased, though, mode of final escape not clear. Would be possible to HIde behind strange, large pillars, but whatif being chased by several people? Could then jump down on tracks and hunch under overhang of platform. Grisly image of accidentally touching third rail enters brain and fantasy ends unplesantly. Am struck with unhappy thought that much of life is spent in similar unproductive pursuits, i.e. freaking self out. For example, while going to bathroom in middle of night imagining big Rat running out from behind toilet. Or if ever am in the Lincoln Tunnel thinking about leaks or jackknifed trucks, or flat tire on car that am in. Or how any blemish on skin turns into maglignant, deadly cancer and provide self with maudlin scenes of saying goodbye to loved ones. Or time several weeks ago while in kitchen, when heard name being said in deep, clear voice. At time, Dave at library. Did not turn around but hairs on back of neck bristled. To what purpose this nervous fantasizing? Reach unwelcome conclusion that must, on some level like being scared. Hear loud voice saying Fritz. Fritz! Libby wearing rain coat, holding umbrella under arm and has old lady type plastic kerchief on head. Feel certain that she, of all people, must have plenty of neurotic thoughts of her own. Ask (rhetorically) if she ever freaks herself out. She frowns as though she is considering. Says No.

Copy Machine

Things back to normal. The Contessa in her chair and me in mine. Am given box of very nice chocolates which suspect were purchased in airport, but am still touched. Open box, put chocolate in mouth and sit on edge of chair, ready for dose of gossip. The Contessa says that she was sworn to secrecy about Vice-Boss's bad behavior which is just fine with her. She wishes she could tell me something but she Can't. She really, really Can't. Promise, in what seems to me to be very sincere tone (later, in afternoon, see that problem with tone was that a bit too breathy, indicating severe desire.) Become huffy, Say, See, you did become friends. BFF. The Contessa wrinkles her nose, Not hardly. Says, If you swear on your mother's grave that you won't tell. Do so. Wheels self closer. Says that bad behavior didn't end with the falling off the chair. Next night, at business dinner, drinks three martinis and then is extremely selfish about bottle of wine. Evening ends in very dramatic drunken episode (the contessa makes it clear that she during evening is bone sober) in which the Contessa forced to drag the Vice-Boss across lobby of hotel and is asked by desk man in very en haut a bas tone when tried to retrieve key whether or not Madame ought to see the Doctor. The Vice-Boss became animated and yells. The Contessa, stops story, says she is not paid enough for this. In fact, she is not paid enough to keep secrets either and she hereby releases me from my promise (feel twinge of guilt about recklessly gambled upon mother's grave.) The Contessa says that she was so nervous by the episode that when the v-p passed out she (the contessa) had to take one of the Vice-Boss's valiums that night and a handful of other pharmiceuticals for future use. She pauses. That part I'm to keep to myself. Assure her I will.

The Contessa Writes Back

First part of email spent complaining about how on the french keyboard the Q takes the place on the A. Por Quois? She writes. The Boss's friends are very friendly, have very good butter (?), and there is a patisserie around the corner Bien Sur which has a special on pain chocolates and by the time she gets back she's going to be a hippo. Long, lyrical description about the Metro. Longer treatise on the political situation in the suburbs. All this before she gets to dirt which is that the Vice-Boss has fallen off the wagon in a big way. Was apparently until out at bar in the Bastille where she tried to dance on a chair and then hurt herself. The Contessa says this from the Horse's mouth, delivered in the early hours when the Vice-Boss called from the hotel crying . The rest of the day the Vice-Boss wore sunglasses, even in meetings and at galleries. The Contessa writes, No one was fooled.

Libby Deigns to Visit

Am a bit peeved that Libby has neither called, nor stopped by the whole time the Contesa has been gone. Several times have started emails to her and once, even dialed her extension before hanging up because though feel that she ought to visit, do not actually want her to do so. But today the seal is broken. Libby comes downstairs in frantic state. Says that is is freezing upstairs and needs clothes What do I have? Tell her that I don't have anything but that we could look in the Contessa's drawer. We do. In the Contessa's drawer we find a red woolen sweater, a hat with earflaps, scarf that looks as though has taken trip through puddle, and a pair of balled up socks. Libby screams at the socks and says Please shut the door. She says she has a Fear of used socks. Says she needs to go Wash her hands (from the way she says it see that she means to scrub until raw.) Immediately after door to office closes behind Libby, write long email to the contessa.

And, We Fear What We Create

Wake up yesterday morning with sudden memory that am to go to meetings at the houses of donors with the New Man so that can take notes. Did not volunteer for job, but at meeting several weeks ago, the Vice-Boss said (based on nothing) that Fritz is really good at taking notes. Without thinking, piped up, Not really. Vice-Boss said, oh yes, one time you drew a very good chicken. Remembered chicken and was proud and touched that she remembered, but did not see how this demonstrated good note taking skills. The New Man said to the Vice-Boss Great, Fritz will take notes for me the same week the Contessa is taking notes for you. This, though not a joke, and not funny, caused the vice-boss and New Man to laugh at alarming length and volume. Day before yesterday, Vice-Boss said that was to dress in business clothes (order accompanied by disconcerting head-to-toe scan of clothes. Did not care to guess what scan revealed. Wanted to say, I remember when a lady with tattoos all over her face worked here! I'm doing just fine! (doing fine in comparison, if must be rigidly honest with self.)) Yesterday morning, open closet to find business clothes even though am not exactly certain what those are and even if certain, am sure that do not have. Find passable navy blazer (purchased at Salvation Army.) Unearth gray wool pants, which fit fine but are wrinkled very badly. Give good shake, but see that ironing unavoidable. Loathe ironing above all other activites (including basketball). After dealing with pants (also wicked ironing board, and iron, which seems to cause more creases than it solves) feelings about ironing not improved. Put on white shirt and navy cashmere tie. Check self out in mirror and see that look like Doorman. Take off shirt and tie. Find pink shirt which, though not appropriate to season (even though right for weather which is too warm for November--stop unhelpful train of thought which is headed straight toward Global Warming panic) at least doesn't look like uniform. Settle on tie with blue and yellow stripe which, though clashing, again, doesn't look like uniform. Outfit met with raised right eyebrow (New-Man's.) At first meeting, give self firm instruction that am not to doodle. Take notes assiduously. At end of meeting see with horror that though have not, technically, doodled, have dotted all i's with circles. Have also drawn garland border. In next meeing, stifle urge to draw stars. Stifled urge manifests itself in spooky insects in far right corner. Take car service to next meeting, which goes on for quite some time and turns into dinner at Italian restaurant on upper east side. As don't care to slur or say something inappropriate, and as am unsure whether or not note taking required, order Pellegrino. Rest of table orders cocktails. Charming older woman wearing tweed suit orders and drinks two vodka tonics very quickly and then spills third on my lap. This causes much running around and bringing of napkins. Since already smell like drunk order glass of wine. Older woman's husband not charming and in posession of very bad breath. Talks to me about Tennis, which I don't care about at all. Attempt to talk about Books, but gentleman ignores and says Isn't Bush doing much better now? Tax cuts and the economy, &tc. Disagree from core of being, but nod head agreeably as see that argument will do no good. Vice-Boss give me money for a cab, which makes feel excited about not having to take subway all the way home but also ashamed of state of life. In back seat, experience sudden feeling of disconectedness and fear. Taxi driver talking on telephone to friend, Explains to friend that was sick last week but that still had to pay lease fee of $100 per day. Goes on to list other woes (daughter sick, mother evicted.) Begin to feel very sorry for driver and plan large tip. Driver suddenly says to friend, You know what the buddhists say, We create what we fear. Sit up in seat. Feel better and worse at the same time. At home, am greeted by frantic licks (Jenny's) and hug (Dave's.) When go to sleep, dreams feature floods.

Birthday Party

Late in the afternoon on Friday, the Contessa says that it is her birthday on the fifteenth and do I want to come to a party at her house this weekend for a small party. Am filled with guilt because haven't remembered and say firmly, I assumed you were going to have a party once you got back from Paris. Firmness makes sound less convincing rather then more. Becomes clear through further conversation that though the party will occur at the Contessa's house, Dave and I are expected to be caterers. Guilt and resentment (luckily) cancel each other out. We plan menu. The Contessa wants to have Vodka drinks. Try to convince her that we will feel much better if vodka not introduced to party. The Contessa says she know what I mean but it is her birthday and she wants vodka which she will purchase. All I have to worry about is the food. And will I please email her list of which cheeses I will be bringing. The Contessa, despite living in extremely small apartment invites many, many people, most of whom seem have also been instructed to chain smoke. Am irritated until first vodka drink consumed, after which become extremely accepting. Not to mention charming. Exhange witty banter with several strangers while wending way through apartment. When go to the bathroom, see that am also good looking and that booze has erased lines that Time had drawn. When emerge from bathroom, am cornered by Hilary (casting director from summer) for a long five minutes of terrifying speculation about film career (mine). Am forced to tell quite a few lies, including that haven't been going out for Parts but instead have been writing Script. Hilary asks, quite resonably, What is the script about? Script (hear self saying) is about brother and sister who solve mystery of murder in Peru. See Hilary's eyes glaze over, so add shocking bits about incest and ritual mutilation. This doesn't seem to impress either, so extricate self with excuse that need to check on cake. At end of evening wish the Contessa Bon Voyage. She says it won't be so bad, right? It might be fun, right? Assure her is Will be fun--she and the Vice-Boss might even become friends. Yes, she says, yes! She's much better since she got back from rehab. (Both of us obviously very drunk and not in right minds.) In bed, after spinning unpleasantly, Sleep fitfully. Am woken up at 7 a.m. by sound of door buzzer which causes to jump out of bed, heart pounding. Dave mutters that he signed us up for the monthly exterminator visit. Says so from under pillow. Tell exterminator that services not needed. Jenny ready to go outdoors. Pull on clothes from night before. Everything smells very very smoky. Tell self grimly that might as well have smoked own cigarette. Thought produces panicky moment when am worried that have. Day crisp and Bright. Vow never to have vodka again. While Jenny sniffs every tree, think about what it means to Celebrate and whether or not one ought to live one's life in a way that Celebration the night before causes regret the next day. Philosophical thoughts interrupted by pain behind Eyes.

Wine

Receive shipment of wine at work. Last delivery included disintegrating box, most of which had been eaten away by mold, bottles within similarly afflicted (insides of bottles presumably not damaged, but outside extremely smelly),so say in high-handed manner, Wait while I examine the product. Am instantly mortified by both tone and word choice. Nothing to be done but to pretend to check to make sure all is well while deliveryman looks on cooly. When done, say, This looks to all be in order. When deliveryman gone, examine boxes in earnest. Red wine cases seem both large and heavy. On box is printed note that says 33 1/3% more free! Pull out one of bottles and see that bottle indeed 1 liter instead of usual 750 mL. Show bottle to the Contessa. She says, They should do that more often, in dreamy tone then goes back to reading the US weekly, which Susan has brought into the office. Put the boxes away in supply closet but feel that litre bottles of wine unnatural, causing slightly vertiginous feel.

Happy Hour

After work go with the Contessa and Susan to get drinks (before
leaving, the Contessa very sternly asks Susan whether or not she is old
enough to drink, eventually making susan produce her drivers license.
The Contessa sniffs and says that Well, she doesn't want to get fired
for giving drinks to underage girls. Think this is blowing things far
out of proportion but, naturally, don't say so.) We all agree that are
extremely Tired of all places in neighborhood (too crowded, too Fratty,
too expensive, that one time we went to the French Roast the soup had a
slick of grease, that one has the crotchety eastern european waitress
&tc.) Propose going to newish restaurant with unpormising name Scoopy's
Seafood Shack. Name not only unpromising, location of restaurant
evidentally cursed as over past 6 years, 8 restaurants have occupied
space. Witnessed arrival and departure of" two French restaurants in a
row (the first more bistro food, the second hewed closer to North
African influenced French) an extremely short lived sushi resturant,
Southern Barbeque, another french place that had a jazz theme, a
Mexican place called La Cantina, something called Gabble & Gobble
(never darkened the door of that place), and finally Scoopy's. Would
not, at all, be surprised to learn restaurant built over indian burial
ground--when enter, see that one booth and two bar stools occupied.
This par for course for location. Walls covered with shadow boxes
displaying fishing paraphinalia--flies, hooks, spars, butterflies (?),
old books. Walls also decorated with taxidery fish, maps and rusty Olde
gas station signs. Feel sur that will be offered laminated menu listing
mixted drinks featuring lots of Kaluah. Something similar must strike
the Contessa because after two drinks and heavy gossip and backbiting
about the Vice-Boss and the New Man, the contessa says that she feels
that we are the Secretaries gone out to get happy hour drinksTGI
Friday's. Feel that--though true--this very very unhappily put.

What's to Come

When coming back from lunch see Libby standing in front of building speaking in scolding tone to unknown young woman. Give firm wave and keep going. Hear Libby calling after me, but play deaf as go through revolving door into lobby. Libby jumps into portion of revolving door immediately behind, pushing quite a bit too vigorously. I lobby Says that lots of people tell her she is a good Listener and that she would be very glad to Talk if need to talk about the Office. Ask, dumbly, What would I talk about? She says that she hears that tensions have been running high and that both of the bosses have been very difficult. This prompts bizarre and unwelcome loyalty to both Vice-Boss and New Man. Say, lying, Oh no, in fact, the New Man has been like a breath of fresh air. Libby says leadingly, well if you change your mind. In elevator, Libby says Would you like a chocolate covered blueberry? Am curious about such a thing, say yes please to be polite but stay alert. Libby produces bag of of alleged chocolate covered blueberries which are alarming shade of violet. Am, for some reason, surprised when tastes like soap. Libby says that it is the most delicious thing she's ever had. As leave elevator Libby calls out, Let's talk next week when [the Contessa] is gone!

Ninja

The Contessa wearing all black today. Ask if she is going to funeral. Looks at me with weepy eyes and am gripped with guilt. Says, no, no funeral, black clothing necessitated by lazy bachlorettehood. Says aside from the clothes--which are all nonmatching shade of black--is in a good mood. Visited Boss last night who set her up with friends in Paris (if it is still standing, she says darkly in an aside) so that she doesn't have to stay with the Vice-Boss in the hotel room. Ask how the boss is, pre-emptively so that won't accuse self or be accused by Contessa of being Afraid of death. Looks at me steadily, He is not good, she says. He didn't get up out of bed at all. She pushes the on buttons of the monitor and computer. But I'm sure he'll pull through, she says.

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Love Story

Susan is a 79 yr old beautiful, statuesque widow of 8 years...

Roger is a 92 yr old widower of 6 months..his wife gail, was a very dear friend of susan's.....

Roger REPUTEDLY is/was a controlling, aloof character.....i have known him for years, but he still doesn't know my name....

at their tender, young ages, they decided to get married....not just a casual little tying of the knot, but rather a formal episcopalian affair with 250 guests inattendance....much tongue wagging, especially from those who were not invited though they had been friends of gail and roger for many years...chatter consisted of opining re the choice of marriage in lieu of co-habitation...i finally told them to shut up

the bride wore white though tailored and non-fussy...the groom couldn't get the ring on her finger....finally succeeded after much fumbling and audience mirth....large lunch and reception afterward in church hall....

i didn't get to attend due to previous obligation....assume there was the traditional cake cutting ....will have to check with one of my spies....

roger and susan took off for canadian honeymoon...don't know who was driviing ??????? the skies just poured and poured rain....the wind was huge...not freezing here, but going north wonder if any ice....am grateful i was on my way south to edmonds to help Edie with a planned parenthood sale..sounds like a safer place to be.

rumor has it THEY will be living in roger and gail's house which i am sure susan had visited as a guest many many times.....also conflicting reports re her cat.....one version: roger forbade the feline.....another version was that he has contracted for a cat door be installed.....i can hardly envision that, as he has a lovely, lovely home.....finances will never be a problem.....

Roll

Awake from disturbing dream in which Office-mates have formed touch football team. Game takes place on playing field inside track of Lincoln Junior High School . Am wearing extremely unflattering royal blue shorts with white piping and reversible royal-blue-and-white t-shirt--essentially two shirts sewn together for maximum bunching.(Unfortumately, location and attire very true to own history ages 12-14.) The contessa, Vice-Boss, and New Man all wearing similar outfits but New Man wearing black bandana on head. Has the rest of us huddle around him. Draws play on his hand. I am to go one direction, the Vice-Boss, the other, and the Contessa should go up the middle. Feel extreme dread. The Contessa widens her eyes at me then turns into Sigrid and then back again. The play starts, there is chaos and then there is a big pile up and Vice-Boss bites the New Man on the ankle. Wake up in tangle of sheets, Jenny confused and Barks, which wakes up Dave. Says in loud voice, sitting up, I did not order the duck. Have nerver known him to talk in his sleep before. This feels significant, but am not sure how. Though it is the earliest part of dawn, get up and make coffee. Jenny stays in bed so go to Computer to write mystery. Write unintentionally grisly scene in which a suspect (the deed hasn't been done yet) singes skin off of guinea pig.

Friends at the park

Wake up this morning feeling general unease. See that if stay in bed, general feeling will become specific--specific like a hydra, i.e. many headed. Pull on jeans, long sleeved t-shirt, sweatshirt, get leash from hook by door. Clip leash to Jenny's collar but let her run to Elevator with the leash trailing behind her. Serena and Great Dane Harold and feel relieved to see Friends. Serena wearing many scarves and appears to be wearing two skirts--somehow makes look glamorous rather than like bag lady. Asks in nosy way if there is anyone else who could walk Jenny or if it is just us two living in the apartment. Tell her about Dave, say that he likes to Sleep in the morning. Serena says, It is nice when they sleep. Nod head in agreement, but don't see what she means. Serena bends down to inspect Jenny's foot, grabs hold of snout and looks in her eyes. Jenny's eyes roll back in head but doesn't try to struggle. Serena lets go of mouth. Says that Jenny looks healthy. She does. We say goodbye. Jenny somewhat less agorophobic, practically prancing down sidewalk. Congratulate self on improvemnt that have perpetrated in Jenny. Unfortunately when reach door of building, Jenny very very scared of pigeon. When get back into apartment J. immediately hides under bed. Know very well how she feels, but tell her that it will Get Better. Dave openes eyes, asks What will get better? Tell him, from temporary raft of sanity, Everything.

Space and Time Explained

Libby brings down mail intended for us. Somehow she makes it clear with the arrangement of the muscles in her face that it is our fault our mail got misdirected. Do not wish to talk about mail. Attempt to change topic to Time and Space. Libby says, dismissively, that she and Raskolnikov read the article yesterday. Says that it is interesting but Dumbed down. If I like, she will bring me the book the article is talking about. Say, oh yes please. Good, she says, if you have any questions I'd be happy to answer them.

Warped Space-Time

When the Contessa comes in, immediately hands me newest issue of US Weekly, says, Take it away from me. Gladly do. The Contessa gets sucked back in as go through first section which lends itself to making commments about how people look, i.e. too fat, too skinny, haggard. Tried to think of something nasty to say about picture of Jude Law, Sadie Frost and their two darling children. Draw a blank. The Contessa comes through, says, He is almost too good looking. Same can not be said for Janet Jackson who is either very, very chubby or victim of cruel hoax. Turn page. Extremely disturbing and funny picture of Regis and Kelly dressed up as Mary Kate and Ashley. Regis wearing blonde wig, large sunglasses, cream colored sweater, shimmery lipstick (shudder) and long beads. Both Reeg and Kelly holding giant Starbucks cups. Learn quite a bit about Kevin and Britney. Kevin, not surprisingly, doing a lot of drinking and smoking of marijuana. The mother of Kevin's baby interviewed and says (as though to Britney), C'mon kiddo, did you think things were going to be different? Indeed. Skip article on Jessica Simpson and get to spread of Angelina and Brad playing with the kids on the beach in Malibu. Am horrified to see that Angelina has given her new baby a mohawk like Maddox's. On closer inspection, mohawk turns out to be an illusion caused by photographic merging of baby's head and Angelina's own hair. Reach back of magazine, which similar to beginning, does away with most words, letting the reader derive what please or pain he may from the photographs. Look at always entertaining, fashion police section, Nicole Richie (too skinny), Lee Lee Sobieski wearing calico Little House on the Prarie dress, Paula Abdul wearing corset and Fur boa. Magazine ends with page of celebrities wearing headbands, flapper-style. Not flattering on anybody--Madonna's bejeweled headband especially poor choice. Close magazine. Think that entire exercise extremely unhealthy. Have uneasy thought that brain did not allow to feel guilty until after the deed was done and it was too late to stop self. Start to think of other times similar process worked itself out. See that this train of thought will be both unfruitful and painful. The Contessa staring with unfocussed eyes at wall. Asks, What is the fifth dimension? Say, firmly, Smell. Immediately realize that very wrong answer, laugh lightly to show that I meant as a joke. Actually, The Contessa says, What is the first dimension? We are unable to decide if the first dimension a line or a point. Internet research reveals that the first dimension line, the second is a plane (we get hung up on what that is) the third is a solid, and the fourth time. Admit that do not, at all, see how time is involved. The Contessa says, Apparently there are at least 26 dimensions. We live in an Island Universes in Warped Space-Time. She explains, I read the Science times to cleanse myself US Weekly. Ask, Did it work? She says that I should try reading the article. Do so. Am sorry to report to her that it does not, in fact, make me feel smarter. Rather, the contrary. Also, the talk of time and space curving around black hole makes feel tense.

Trip to Europe

Tell the Contessa about one-sided conversation with the New Man yesterday. She is appalled. Says that she can't believe she was ever even remotely attracted to him. He is the exact reason she is not dating. Good thing she has her new girlfriends. Who? Ask, confused. Benson & Hedges, she says, and bitterly, which is worrisome, but see that she is making joke because smokes Camels, not B & Hs. Tell her that always thought that Benson & Heges were not girls, but old men sitting at a partner desk. Says, that may be, but who is to say for sure. Its like Winston, or Salem, made up. Tell her, no it isn't, in fact Winston-Salem is an actual city in North Carolina. She narrows her eyes at me. Laughs in smug way, Sounds like you're practicing for conversations with Libby while I'm in Paris eating pain chocolates. Do not care for her tone. Rifle through stake of papers on desk. The Contessa hits her forehead with the palm of her hand. Says (bad word, bad word.) Ask, What? Says that she forgot to get her passport renewed. Says, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been nasty about Libby, this is my reward. What do I do? The Vice-Boss is going to kill me. See thought enter her head. Says brightly, maybe you could go instead of me. Vice-Boss chososes this moment to come indoors. She reeks of cigarettes. Have graphic image of shared hotel room, ashes everywhere, and a line down the middle of room. In moment of weakness, which immediately regret, tell Vice-Boss that the Contessa's passport not up to day. The Vice-Boss says Come with me, I know where we can go to get it taken care of today. Contessa and Vice-boss come back much later. Vice-Boss says hellow to loudly and to friendly, with fake smile. Slams office door. The Contessa loooks pale and says she needs to drink her coffee before she can talk. After she's had a few sips, she send me an email: We are going to kill each other.

Pool

See New Man at pool. Says he got some last night and nudges me in ribs. Thankfully we are clothed and walking out of lobby of gym toward work. Tongue paralyized. We could talk about the weather which is lovely, sunny and fall-like (and also troublingly warm, but am not going to think about that.) But New Man telling me about his conquest, young woman who works for art foundation. She is, apparently, stacked. Head floats above body. Realize for the first time with nasty jolt that New Man is only two or three years older than me. Am not sure if being a secretary has made me feel younger (no), or if youth is tied up in ideas of power. New Man still talking. Alleges that even I would think the young woman who works for art foundation is hot. Am no longer interested in the New Man's sex life, at all, but see that am going to become his confidant when the Contessa and Vice-Boss in Europe (week after next).