Self-medication

Have grown tired of self being anxious and depressed about chauffage global, but unfortunately, being tired does nothing to take away mental problems--often rather the contrary. Take break from work this afternoon to walk in muggy, warm air, feeling anxiety rise to unreached levels until find self at Barneys. Then suffer something like blackout, except am able to watch as ask for Size 29 or 30 please in imperious voice and then exhibiting extreme deciciveness not evident in any other part of life, try on pants, march up to cashier and say firmly, I'll take these--then find self on street holding black cloth tote bag (which I am unreasonably excited about) instead of usual paper bag with handle in posession of skinny jeans. Once out of store, decisiveness wilts and become fearful that it is at all appropriate for a person my age to wear what have bought. Am sufficiently distracted by question of propriety--which leads to long thought about Fashion and how one often ends up doing things one has said one would Never do--i.e. tight pants, baggy pants, pants with a flare--while at the same time congratulating self on never having purchased things still on the Never list--white jeans, black jeans, leather pants. When get back to the office tell the Contessa what have done. Her eyes grow big and she punches me on the shoulder very hard. She draws out identical black canvas bag from under desk. At least--she says--you didn't buy black jeans. See jeans and am sorry to say that wonder what black jeans would be like on self.

Self Medication

Have grown tired of self being anxious and depressed about chauffage global, but unfortunately, being tired does nothing to take away mental problems--often rather the contrary. Take break from work this afternoon to walk in muggy, warm air, feeling anxiety rise to unreached levels until find self at Barneys. Then suffer something like blackout, except am able to watch as ask for Size 29 or 30 please in imperious voice and then exhibiting extreme deciciveness not evident in any other part of life, try on pants, march up to cashier and say firmly, I'll take these--then find self on street holding black cloth tote bag (which I am unreasonably excited about) instead of usual paper bag with handle in posession of skinny jeans. Once out of store, decisiveness wilts and become fearful that it is at all appropriate for a person my age to wear what have bought. Am sufficiently distracted by question of propriety--which leads to long thought about Fashion and how one often ends up doing things one has said one would Never do--i.e. tight pants, baggy pants, pants with a flare--while at the same time congratulating self on never having purchased things still on the Never list--white jeans, black jeans, leather pants. When get back to the office tell the Contessa what have done. Her eyes grow big and she punches me on the shoulder very hard. She draws out identical black canvas bag from under desk. At least--she says--you didn't buy black jeans. See jeans and am sorry to say that wonder what black jeans would be like on self.

Unfinished Business

Train so slow this morning that begin to think have perhaps died and am in purgatory. Revise opinion of location downward after tall man decides that what he ought to do on a crowded train stuck between stations is to play music on his phone loudly enough for the whole train to hear. Woman next to me shakes her head and then goes back to her Sudoku puzzle. (Attempt to seruptitiously observe her so can learn rules of game unsuccessful. Tell self firmly that can't figure out rules because prefer Word Games.) When finally see nose of Dachsund poking out from top of handbag--one distraction proven to make time pass quickly--train pulls up to station. As am walking briskly to school, hear one mother pushing stroller say to the other, I finally found out what's wrong with Eva. Ears perk up--even though have no personal acquaintence by name of Eva--though now wish did, as am now likely to hear some hot gossip. Unfortunately, can hear nothing else of conversation except for Mumble, mumble, Angela Lansbury. As am late for meeting, must tell self that this is yet another of Life's Mysteries. In meeting, draw and admirably shade pyramid. Am so inspired by success of pyramid that stick with Egyptian theme and attempt Sphynx. Results not happy--drawing resembles ailing elephant seal. In office, Jackie says she made brownies--at which shriek Oh boy! which when recall at any time for rest of day fills me with horror--to which Jackie continues with sinister sentence--she made them, but when she went to take a shower this morning The Cat messed them up. On the whole, suppose that should be glad that Jackie not the sort of person for whom a little cat mess is forgivable, but am wildly disappointed and angry at cat for several hours.

Talk to grandmother in Widbey Island yesterday who says that it snowed a little bit and it was in the twenties. Counter with own She replies, This kind of weather very strange and it is clear that the end is nigh. Nigh, she says, that's a word you don't have a chance to say often. It's like the word bosom. You can't use it uin regular speech any more--you can only use it if you're singing--here she switches from vigorous speaking voice to very vigorous alto--Rock-a my soul in the Bosom of Abraham! Agree that bosom has fallen out of use, but urge her strongly to please not talk about The End. At this, we takee up new topic of Sigrid, Elizabeth, and--as grandmother call's Sigrid's husband--that weasley man. Do not wish to encourage this behavior, but inwardly can only agree. Elizabeth darling and though she can't yet talk, it is clear that she is on the road to being a Genius; Sigrid a Big Help with the cooking of Thanksgiving dinner (this a bald lie--Sigrid yearly suggests Going Out instead of Bothering to cook); Sigrid's husband seemed Tired. I, in turn, tell her that Dave has moved further along in the sale of his share of the business. Grandmother says, It is very rude to ask about money, but I can be honest with her. Tell her what Dave is expecting, but remind her that he is going to take time off work to be a Poet. She replies that, She's sure he's making the right decision and anyway he's going to inherit pots of money anyway, right? Admit that am still hazy on what, if anything, he will get. (Privately think that we will all be drowned or dead of starvation, etc. before this even becomes an issue, but as violates earlier request that Grandmother not talk about The End, keep grim thought to self.) At end of conversation Grandmother says Why doesn't she come visit us. Am excited and tell her please do.

Poetry

Have strange dream last night in which everyone (including self) writes and talks about poetry. Oh no, the Contessa says briskly at one point, There's no reason for every line to make sense. Nonsense is like the Sahara desert of of meaning. In dream, conclude that she means that when one does find meaning in nonsense, it is like a cool drink of water. When wake up, feel extremely exhausted, but intelligent (further examination of poetry written and discussed in dream erodes latter feeling.)

Helpful Delusion

Last few days have been crisp--which is pleasing on several levels. One, am able to wear new wool coat. It is not an exaggeration to say that have been in search of this exact coat for seven years. Coat found at Steven Alan sample sale--referred to sale by leg model who expressed regret that she couldn't go as is in LA, but wished me luck. Luck is indeed granted. When go to sale, have to take several laps around space while get up nerve to use charp ends of elbos to create room for self. SEe several promising fabrics, but don't committ until third lap, when am inhabited by spirit of shopping god (demon?) Have rarely experienced such focus. In fact, see Hilary of the casting agency, and give her a distracted Hi before diving back into racks of clothes. (Later, am struck by cynical thought that she will think better of me because of my disinterest.) Am assertive about personal space so that nobody horns in on my area of the racks. Narrowly avoid disaster in form of temporarilly charming cream canvas blazer with rivets and blue cordoury cuffs--also red sweater with blousy sleeves and jeans with patches. Fashion disasters avoided, but do wreck havoc on bank account after find and purchase aforementioned wool coat--mid thigh length, collar which can be turned up, slim--and also gray wool blazer, two button down shirts, canvas belt, and long wool scarf for Dave--snatched up at the last minute so he doesn't think I thought only of myself. This tactic more or less successful--Dave greets evening fashion show with amused look on face and sardonic question--Is that all you could find? Am also glad for chillier weather because am more able to delude self about Global Warming. Know that this is intellectually weak, but is psychologically much more pleasant.

e-mail laws

Receive charming request from Rita Idoman, a widow in the Cote d'Iviore (her husband was killed by rebels for as she euphamisitically put it political reasons) requesting my help in getting money from bank so that she can buy a new machine to process cocoa from her plantation. This the usual scam, but find it much more persuasive and melodic in French. Have frivolous idea that will write to Senator Clinton and ask her to please pass internet law that requires all spam to be in French. Mention idea to the Contessa who then becomes crass and tries to translate Barnyard Fun into French. Adds that emails with the subject line, Lose those extra pounds?--which she says always fills her with unspeakable shame--and the shame makes her full of another kind of shame--namely that One Shouln't Worry about One's weight, etc. etc.--actually ought to be rendered in Cantonese as lose those extra pounds undoubtedly just as nasty in French.

Cookies

Jackie asks if I like chocolate chip cookies with pecans. Say yes. Oh good, because she made too many. Produces large tupperware container that holds thousands. Say loudly that Am going to have One cookie. Have memory of being told as a child that it is rude to have more than two of anything that is offered to one. Forget self and have five cookies, which seem to have extra chocolate chips in them. Libby comes in the afternoon to help train Jackie. Is apparently not swayed by Jackie's cookies because can hear Libby say in stern voice, You must never, ever, leave a scrap of paper on your desk at the end of the day. The Chair doesn't like it. (Note: This is entirely false, but have sudden rock-solid conviction that Libby may very well believe it to be true because she wants it to be true. Wonder how often in own life beliefs warp reality. I'm very neat, Jackie says in short tone.) Because, Libby continues, sometimes people Think that piles on the desk are (now she is talking about me), a way of organizing things but they are wrong. Libby continues at length. Cower in office until Jackie comes in, red faced and very, very angry. Asks if it is OK to shut the door. Urge her to do so quickly and ask her if I can do anything to help. When door is shut, Jackie says, she just need a little break, she'll be fine. Awkward moment ensues when realize that know nothing about Jackie and she nothing about me. Ask her, Are you from the Bronx? Yes. Ask, Oh, where in the Bronx. She replies politely, but as have never been to Bronx, street names mean nothing to me. Out of nervousness, give monologue about cookies. At end, Jackie says she's had enough of a break--she'd better get back to her (eye roll) training. Spend rest of afternoon worrying that she will quit.

Jenny

This morning am awakened by sound of Jenny being sick on floor. Have strange impulse to see what it was that made her sick--lean down toward puke and see half chewed moth, still moving. It takes me much longer than Jenny to get over experience.

Jackie

New secretary, name of Jackie, blushes every time I talk to her, won't meet my eye, and calls me Mr. San Luis. After original odd jolt when think that my father is in the room, begin to think of self as distinguished and worthy of the Mr. Quickly revise opinion when Jackie buzzes me to say in alarmed tone, somebody who says she is a Contessa of poetry is on the phone. After traditional beep, Mr. San Luis! the Contessa shrieks, wheezing and snorting in completely undignified laughter. Mr. San Luis! she shrieks. Ask her coldly if she called about anything important. The Contessa calms herself. No she just wanted to chat. Says She and Jackie had a fine talk, which makes me feel uneasy. Later, Jackie comes into office, boldly meeting my eye. Ask her Yes? She replies, Fritz, do you know how to get a jam out of the copy machine?

Going Away

The Contessa throws surprise going away party/baby shower for Libby. My job is to get her to a fictitious Curriculum Review meeting for which the Dean's secretary sent out an equally fictitous email noting. Libby very excited in her preparations for the meeting and is busy for hours with the coyping, binder clipping, the application of sticky arrows, and the placing of documents in binders. Do not have the heart to tell her that all her preparations will be to naught. It is not until walking down stairs that Libby suddenly stops, narrows eyes and says, We'd better not be going to a surprise party. Acting abilities perhaps not what they should be. Say, No! in high, artificial voice that would fool somebody far less suspicious than Libby. But as we enter, Libby screams, flings papers in the air and gives all indication of actually being very surprised--which I'm sure she is--as I am--feel it was absolutely unnecessary for the Contessa to hide under the table and leap out, blowing party horn. After scare, Libby actually appears to enjoy self, even going so far as to request medium-sized glass of apple juice. Vice-boss is there as well as the New man, new people from the development office, and various other people who only see at events like this--luckly election provides fruitful topic of conversation. The dean makes a surprise appearance at the end of the party. He is in good spirits, nudges Libby in the ribs and says, Drinking for two, eh? Libby is called upon to speak. She actually chokes up, and then looks around room for purchase, of which there is none, as all the rest of us have also inexplicably gotten teary. The Contessa, whose hostess skills have never before been in evidence (rather the contrary) stands up and says, We are all very sorry to see you leave too--at which everyone claps.

Elections

The Contessa says she has Crossed Her Fingers, Knocked on Wood, thrown salt over her right shoulder, avoided all cracks in the sidewalk, and even ducked in to a church to light a candle--unsuccessful--not a Catholic church--she asks, What have you done? Own attempt at magical thinking has been to constantly refresh political blog sites to monitor misdeeds by the Republicans. Am not sure what I intended to do about reports of fraud and intimidation.

The Marathon

On Sunday morning am awakened at six a.m. by voice over loudspeaker: Wake up people, you need to get up and move your cars off of Lafayette before you get towed! The marathon is coming through! Wake up people,let's go! Sleep out of the question. Get up to write. Feel very strongly that have been writing book for long enough and really ought to be done. In novels--ironically in place most likely to know what is actually going on--books get written in months or even days. Spend hour making coffee, eating cinnamon toast, cutting up apple into pieces, playing tug of war with Jenny and sock, drawing what looks like Medieval illuminations along side of draft, and before finally settle into work. Immediately, DJ starts blaring music on street, presumably to cheer on the runners. Do not think it is appropriate or desirable when Girls Just Want to Have Fun is played when women leaders come through. Suppose should be glad that Who Let the Dogs Out--favorite from last year--is not repeated.

End of Interviews

In middle of interview today have cynical and depressing thought that much of life is spent in state of dread, even when in the middle of doing thing that have already dreaded. This thought hardly original, but is, at the moment, deeply felt. After entirely unsuitable interviewee leaves, try to expain thought to Libby. She says that she Doesn't dread anything. Can't believe it for a second, and feel that will be glad to see her gone. Last interviewee of the day is young woman from the Bronx who has very nice smile. Smile makes me think that everyone looks better while smiling and really ought to try it myself more often. Do try smiling and find that it makes me feel much better. Young woman also has professional attitude, is fully clothed, comes with glowing references, and even meets with Libby's approval. Remind self that in the future ought to not be so pessimistic. This new resolve shaken when read that world's fisheries are being briskly depleted. Smile.

Interviews

Spend extremely long day interviewing applicants for Libby's job. First applicant a weasely little man wearing jacket that I think would look nice on me. In head, try on jacket and am pleased with result. Meanwhile, man complains about his former employer at length--employer happens to be well known photographer who, has a shocking personal life that he does not bother to separate from his professional life--at one point he had his mistress living in the photography stuio his wife paid for. Receive gossip with glee, but after interview feel that would not like the same treatment done to self. Second candidate enters. When the question is put to her, Are you an Organized Person? Interviewee answers, She's the sort of person who might have a messy desk but she always knows Exactly where things are. Demonstrates statement by picking up purse and and saying I'll bet you I can find my dry cleaning ticket in two seconds. She in fact finds three dry cleaning tickets, date on one of which makes her turn pale. After interviewee shuts door behind herself, Libby says in cold fury, Absolutely Not. During third interview am suspicious that candidate is passing gas. After she leaves, Libby says, She seems nice. Am enbarssed to share my suspicion, so merely say, Hmm, Let's keep her on the list. Fourth is wearing extremely short skirt and is falling out of top; has tendency to lean forward when talking, also to cross and uncross legs and to make intense eye contact. After she leaves, Libby says caustically, That was wasted on the two of us. Say dejectedly, How are we going to find anybody? Libby sitting up ramrod straight (which looks exceedingly uncomfortable in her very pregant state), says, Don't worry, we have another five lined up for tomorrow. Attempt at subtle witticism, I'm looking forward to it, is naturally lost on Libby.