Skip to main content

Christmas

I couldn't feel less like Christmas if I was angsting in black nail polish and mourning veils. Not once this season have I felt moved or excited by the bustle, lights or prettiness around me. I took a possessive joy in decorating our home but certainly not a holy one. And when I think of my family far away from me and each other, physically or otherwise, my heart is as dead and cold as a stone in my breast. The one thing that has lifted my spirits is that every day this week I have gotten a book off my Amazon wish list from my dad and Donna, and in January I am going to take these books to the coffee house or under a tree and read them to my heart's content.

I really didn't want to suffer postpartum depression over A Raven for a Lark, but I can't deny it any longer. I know when I leave my world that it will be a while before I have the stamina to enter it again. Memories of it come upon me and it's so beautiful I feel sorry for everyon else in the world. Sometimes I think that that's where I'm going to be when I die. Any of those places I have lived in my mind.

Tonight I can't get on the computer to do work, and I wonder what I should do. There is scarcely any work to do at all. It annoys me that people say prOn, pron or pr0n instead of porn or better yet porn-o-graph-y in their journals. Do you know what I am talking about? One half of the female population is taking pictures of their twats and putting it on their MySpace and the other half is thinking of gentle metaphors for their boy-on-boy action. Let's call a spade a spade though, okay? Let's have a little balance, because all you are driving me crazy. That's right, you. I can't take much more of your feminine nonsense. I am Everywoman. If you see me in the hallway tonight, please smile back, or at least, don't glance away like a nervous animal. If you scan my groceries or make my latte, please don't treat me like gum on your shoe. Thanks, I appreciate it.

Popular posts from this blog

The secret to a happy home

I finished Marion Harland's guide tonight and I wonder ceaselessly at two things. 1. She is so down on America! Even more than I am. She complains of things in which I am so well-steeped I could not see them for what they were. In particular, American style and cookery. It is true that our food, which we count as so much more generous in portion than the overseas counterpart, is as coarse and indecorous as it is plentiful, but as an American woman I cast up my hands and declare I would rather spend my time on something else. She makes an interesting point about American women's fashions. In France women wear what looks good on them, and in America women wears what comes off the manufacturing line in the latest style. It is very conformist, and I have to admit I feel it in myself, for I would be embarrassed to wear something that is "out" even if it flattered me better. 2. Harland's other point I feel clearly from last night's experiences. I looked in my journ...

Helen Keller

Reading this Women of Influence book is causing me to remember another of my great childhood loves -- "The Miracle Worker," the story of Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller. It was Anne Sullivan I really loved, and still love -- it always made me heartsick to think of her sacrifice, devoting every waking minute to another human being, with almost no life left to herself, until she died in old age, and Helen Keller required another translator. But God -- she must have known it -- that's the best way to live -- it is to have every moment of your life swallowed in supreme goodness and satisfaction. No wonder I loved her, and no longer do I feel sorry for her -- I envy her. I thought of her today perhaps because when I was around eight or nine I grew aware that she and I shared the same initials "AS." Today is the first day that I am Amanda Monteleone at work, and I have written my initials "AM" dozens of times already. It's strange, but the satisfaction of...

Sprouts

Sprouts Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I am getting sprouts. Hopefully they are carnations. It is such a beautiful spring day. It's good I'm taking the chance to come outside: I have craved a moment to reflect on something beautiful.