#432: I'VE GOT NOTHING, BUT SOMEONE ELSE SURE DOES
And what do I have to say today?
Oh, I don't know. About me? I'm kind of at a loss.
No. Really. I'm not kidding. The woman who always prattles on for paragraphs has got nothing. It's true.
Even my dreams have been not so much about the creative and more about the not saying much.
For example: I dreamt that I was about to cut my toenails, and then when I looked down at them, they were indeed long and in need of cutting; I dreamt that my friend Starcat was having some difficulty finding a site on the internet, and then I helped him find it, and he was happy; I dreamt that I ate a baked potato that was dry, and then I buttered it to alleviate the dryness.
If you think that I am exaggerating, you are seriously in want of some entertainment, because I am not exaggerating.
Today, I woke up, got ready for work, and caught my bus on time. Then at work, I worked. After work, I came home. I pet Oskar, our housekitty, who showed his appreciation of the petting with some purring.
Now, I am here in front of you (kind of, if you forget that I typed this earlier, and you like the illusion of my being right here), and I am wishing that I could give you more.
Now, you are thinking that I am making this entry last a long, long time, considering how much of nothing I am explicating.
But chew on this...
I am actually excited about a baby.
No, it's not mine. It is my friend Frances' imminent offspring. She's having a somethingorother, which I say because the little gaffer wouldn't sit properly during the ultrasounds and made it impossible to tell its specifics, and I am giddy with the idea that this little person will one day look at me with its eyes and reach out to touch my face.
Frances sent me the whole of this photograph yesterday morning, and it has reframed my life a little bit for the timebeing. I am toenails and food consumption and work and to and from -- you know, the basic how and when -- in comparison to one of the first really real-to-me little people being created and kicking the innards of one of the best human beings I know of.
I am going to knit a baby blanket for the little boyl. Most baby yarns come in these faded out awful colours we call baby blue and baby pink and baby yellow, which I normally can't stand, but I am happy to make this one out of those colours, because I love the idea that it might get dragged around through grocery stores and the park and different houses and turn an awful shade of grey by many washings after the fact.
A new person will come into the world and learn to love things, and one of those things it loves might be something I make (if I am very, very lucky).
Fucking almighty wonderful freaking universe to give any of us that. Yes.
This tiny wonder is due to arrive right around Frances' final exams, and I like to think that the boyl will arrive right in the middle of a physics exam. I also imagine that Frances is taking physics.
It would be like the best exclamation of FUCK PHYSICS ever.
I was never any good at physics, and dropped my only class in the subject about two weeks into the course, but who wants to know about me, the woman who dreams she bakes potatoes and waters a wilted plant, when Frances is doing that ridiculous and lovely thing with her insides?
Also, have I ever mentioned that I have known Frances since she was a wee fourteen-year-old girl who claimed that fountain diet Dr. Pepper tasted like melted Barbies?
I could weep with how the times they are a-changin'.
Sex Wars: A Novel of the Turbulent Post-Civil War Period, a novel by Marge Piercy