|A menu hanging on my front door|
Popping popcorn, eating a mess of candy and soda, watching Stand by Me (oh, the beauty of that young River Phoenix!) followed by Seinfeld reruns wasn't enough to dispel the gloom around these parts. I've been folding laundry for the masses and mulling over the recent disappointments -- the baseball, the Switzerland trip -- thinking about dreams and resetting and life's purposes and otherwise making mountains out of molehills, allowing boulders to occlude what's beyond. It's like living in the present when the present is as interminable as the future. We're all in the thin of having head colds and grumpy. Sophie is sleeping much of the day, and I'm hard put to understand whether that's a good thing or a bad. I'm still reading The Goldfinch or, rather, slogging through The Goldfinch. I wonder if it's just me, projecting the current soul-less state of the union over here or whether it's just The Goldfinch, but I might need permission to call it a loss (I bought the book instead of downloading) and a day.