Monday, January 4, 2016


The Andreu-Rivels: Polo, René and Boby (Charlie) - Photo: Johnny Rivel Collection (c.1915)

Could having been cooped up for too many days be causing this wet cat mood? Is it the endless task of sorting and organizing so many belongings of four people? Am I irritated at how many times Patti Smith says “coffee” or “black coffee” or "olive oil" in her new memoir, M Train? For someone who is lauded as a literary, her repetitious refrains certainly feel shoddy and/or sloppy. One would think someone would have mentioned this to her before publication. Maybe it was just too much work with the only return of having something well-written.

Crabby enough for you?

And then there's the Downton Abbey mania. I admit I will watch it, but begrudgingly. 

I barely went out of the house at all today, notwithstanding my plan to take my mother to church and to hit the pool at the YMCA. I took two doses of sleeping medication to ensure that I slept restfully (mission accomplished) but I didn't wake up until 10, thus missing getting Janet to church and getting to Ikea before the crowds.

Productivity and progress occurred. I had nice juicy, lengthy chats with both B1 and M. I can see the top of my dresser and parts of my bedroom floor. And even some light at the end of some tunnel. Yet there is this restlessness and irritation and frustration instead of accomplishment. Is this an example of being too hard on oneself? Impatience? I feel all brow-furrowed and unsmiling. Contracted rather than expansive. (Should that really be contracted rather than expanded? Contractive rather than expansive?)

I think a bath will be in order after Downton Abbey. Perhaps some epsom salts and reading will cause a re-examination of the day. 

Scotch supervising the bedroom organization.
Vera Paris.

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