The Unbearable Lightness of Being***

to Sandra

So, in lieu of elaborating on just why I'm in the glummest of all glum moods (Sophie is sick and I'm at home, the constant sound of construction on my street as people build mega-mansions and apparently dig for oil because the ruckus is outrageous, and the unbloggable), I'm going to cut and paste an email I got today, one of many that I get nearly every day pertaining to -- well -- see for yourself.

Hi!

We have an article about balancing pregnancy and a healthy sex life. Is that something you would consider for your site?

There is also an upcoming adult sex education event that focuses on a 50 Shades of Grey lifestyle.

Thanks!

Sarah

Reader, would you like it if I hosted this article here at a moon, worn as if it had been a shell? Could this be the universe responding to my intentions? Yours?

Responses welcome.























***One of my dear friends asked me what the source of my glum mood was today or whether it was just the unbearable lightness of being. That question made me laugh, then remember my beloved Daniel Day Lewis as Tomas in the movie version of Kundera's novel and then inspired this goofy post. And I'm a little less glum. So thank you, S.

A Saturday Morning List

1. The ladder outside my bedroom window and the boot right there at the top, where A Man is busy trimming the hedge between my house and The Neighbor's, prompted me to wish that it were Daniel Day Lewis' boot, the Daniel Day Lewis who played the main character in the movie version of Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I believe his name was Tomas pronounced Tomash and he was washing a window on an apartment building, and he caught sight of the woman inside, and before you knew it he had climbed inside and then he had seduced the woman.
2. Anyhoo.
3. On the advice of a friend (one of my many drug mules who help me to ferry Sophie's meds from Canada), I have finally bought a copy of War and Peace and have decided to complete it by my fiftieth birthday in late August. So far, so good. I'm on page 14. 1021 pages to go. This is in lieu of losing fifty pounds by my fiftieth.
4. Anyhoo.
5. The Husband has a miraculous Saturday off, so we've already divvied up the baseball game duties. I'm signed up for the noon game with Oliver.
6. Sophie is on her third or fourth day of a liquid strike. We don't know what's wrong with her, and it's difficult to shake water and juice into her resisting mouth. We took her to the doctor and nothing, apparently, is wrong. She has no infection in her ears, throat or mouth, that the doctor could see. She has no fever. She has, evidently, a $220 virus. I've gone through the stifled panic that I usually go through when Sophie isn't feeling well or acting "normal," where I imagine that it's the beginning of the end for her. I woke up this morning, though, feeling not so great myself, so I'm excited that perhaps it is indeed a virus and not that some new neurological complication has begun and the next thing you know we'll be having to have a permanent IV line or feeding tube and the seizures won't stop, etc. And you thought I was so calm, so amazing, right?
7. Anywho.
8. I spent four out of five weekdays off-kilter due to potentially stressful activities -- the removal of my stitches, the SSI meeting, a job interview and the conservatorship meeting -- and each one went as well as it could go. I believe that calls for an open thanks to the universe and all those who made it happen. I am grateful.
9. Now, if only Daniel Day Lewis would climb through my window, everything would be perfect.

Light, Candy, Oscar and Laundry Monday

That's a photo of the boys' desk in their room, and yes, there are still Christmas gels on the window and yes, I let them keep that huge jar of candy balls on the desk and have found, actually, that they eat less of it when it's right there in front of them. I thought the light coming through the window this morning was beautiful, even as I folded laundry while sitting on Henry's bed in the quiet, and I'm determined to go for a walk this morning and begin, anew, some exercise. I've got nothing more to say about the Oscars last night other than I thought them exceedingly stupid, particularly Seth McFarlane, and I wondered why in the hell Michelle Obama was there virtually with those weird people in military costume standing behind her, contorting their faces uncomfortably. I can't stand Quentin Tarantino and his violent, ugly movies, so I was disappointed that he won Best Original Screenplay over Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom and I also hate musicals (did you know that about me?) so the musical numbers were excruciating to watch except for Adele who I think is fantastic and projects an aura of honesty and sweetness beyond her celebrity. The high moment for me was Daniel Day Lewis, of course, with whom I've been besotted forever, so thank goodness the night wasn't a complete waste of time. So there you go. A mini-critique of the Oscars from another self-absorbed blogger. Now I'm going back to gazing at the pools of light in my house while I clean.