What a very exciting day you’ve had, federal goverment!
We will see what happens, won’t we?
We will see.
My roommate and I are in the process of attacking our overgrown, but promising, backyard.
Last weekend, we headed out with spray bottles of Round Up, cutting shears, garden gloves, well-trained lizards, et cetera. Lord Almighty! Has anyone been in our backyard– in the yardwork sense of the term–since Egypt’s Third Dynasty? We do not think so.
For instance, what?
What is that? What in the name of God is that?
Jessica, hacking away with might and main at a stand of weeds so robust that they could have been mistaken for sapling trees, suddenly came upon these:
1. Put them in an aquarium?
2. Ask them to tell my fortune.
Each tug at the soil unearthed a fresh wave of insect life, which ranged from mildly off-putting to arm-thrashing shrieky shrieks!
US: That bug looks like A BLOOD SAUSAGE WITH THE LEGS OF A GAZELLE
We discussed the fact that we were single-handedly destroying whole ecosystems, but Jessica pointed out that we were the ones paying rent.
Inside the apartment, progress. On Saturday, I opted to stay inside and put together the extra bookcase for my bedroom, purchased at Target some weeks ago. It had been leaning against a wall in our living room, eyeing me with silent reproach every time I made my way past it. “Feckless layabout,” it would have said, if it could speak to me, and I’m not saying it couldn’t.
I opened up the box, tremulously, and removed the insides.
FACTORS WORKING AGAINST ME IN THE PURSUIT OF ASSEMBLING THIS BOOKCASE
–Wildly inexpensive bookcase=hilariously shoddy materials, which appeared to include spit as one of their properties. By the time the screws were completely screwed in, for example, nothing remained of their original topmost surface but a silvery gouge.
–No upper body strength
–The common sense God gave a mongoose
–Zero concept of spatial relationships
I sat on the floor with it for hours, while the buttery blue sky went by in the window, curving my arms and legs around the corners of the bookcase as though it were a recalcitrant child, and about to wriggle out of my grasp in an international airport.
Finally, it was done. I got to my feet and flipped the bookcase over, and set it upright.
I had put the bookcase together with the unfinished surfaces facing outward.
My life is not that hard.
There are a lot of bunnies in our neighborhood right now. Sincerely–they’re everywhere, cotton-tailed and jumping. Jessica and I have a running dispute over what to call this phenomenon.
JESSICA: Bunny Parade!
ME: Bunny HEAVEN!
The choice is clear.
In Doubt, Recalling Cordelia
I cannot heave my heart into my mouth.
Or one hundred-eighty swallows turning south,
or the hen-and-chickens clustering on the garden wall.
That is not all: I cannot tell you all
the scroll of steam uncurling from the tea
might say about what is, or what might be
the common bloodline of this apparent world.
Its speech is locked away, a furled
flag of an antique country, since just a minute ago
was autumn, you saw it, the gold funeral fires, the smoke, and now
come these white billions, already, each irreplacable flake,
and there is just too much to say for them–to say it would take
a tongue as old, as young, as Alexander, for too much goes
unnamed, unnoticed, more is coming, it snows
and snows all day and night and buries all the words.
But we are still responsible for them all, responsible for the birds,
the burning leaves, the climbing vine, we are the only ones
who can say just what it is we saw. And progress swells, a new scene runs,
and still we drop our lines, forget,
the silence piles up in drifts, we let
the words get lost, the tongue stalls–
How can I say how I love you? The burden of the old tune falls
out of my mouth like a stone. And do we name them cursed or blessed,
who love according to their bond, no more, no less?