Have to say this

I have to say that I'm disappointed in all of our former friends. I think the whole let's-not-tell-Sam-how-we-feel behavior is not just wrong-headed, it's hurtful. If you think that Sam's drinking too much or that he's mean when he's drunk, tell him directly, as a true friend would, instead of talking about him behind his back. It's group-think of insidious nature. It's the behavior of people without integrity. It's cold.

I also want to say that I'm put in a bad spot. I can't be friends with people who treat Sam with such disdain for his friendship. I can't believe that people who showed up for me at the hospital have cut me out, too.

I know I'm being a hypocrite for not saying this directly to the people I feel are responsible, but I'm afraid I can't do it without an anger that would be counter-productive. I'm being as direct as I can, in a space I feel safe enough to comment. And it's not like anyone's talking to me, either, anyway.

I'm deeply disappointed and, well, shocked that people I thought were friends could simply cut Sam and me out so cleanly and efficiently. It's upsetting, and it makes me feel isolated. So if that's the desired effect, consider it accomplished.

I just have to share this, even in the ether, so to speak

From Beckett's Molloy:

"Chameleon in spite of himself, there you have Molloy, viewed from a certain angle. And in winter, under my greatcoat, I wrapped myself in swathes of newspaper, and did not shed them until the earth awoke, for good, in April. The Times Literary Supplement was admirably adapted to this purpose, of never failing toughness and impermeability. Even farts made no impression on it. I can't help it, gas escapes from my fundament on the least pretext, it's hard not to mention it now and then, however great my distaste.

"One day I counted them. Three hundred and fifteen farts in nineteen hours, or an average of over sixteen farts an hour. After all, it's not excessive. Four farts every fifteen minutes. It's nothing. Not even one fart every five minutes. It's unbelievable. Damn it, I hardly fart at all, I should never have mentioned it. Extraordinary how mathematics help you to know yourself."

Weird

It's weird that I haven't posted since July. I bet these words are just floating around without any readers.

Anyway, it's late for reading other people's lousy essays about genre, so I thought I'd update a little before bed. Sam and I have been thinking about the upcoming holidays, and people in my group therapy have been talking about their plans with families. I have to say, it gets me down. If it weren't for my alienation from my parents and Sam's fissure with his brother, if it weren't for the fact that we have no money to travel, if I had the time to take a break in my work, maybe we'd get some plans together that don't involve just the two of us having dinner at home. Who will eat the two pies I make each year? We have such great memories of recent Thanksgivings, and the true sharing among families and friends. Although last Thanksgiving could have gone a little more smoothly, I admit. Maybe the two of us, the turkey and a couple of pies will warm our home just fine.

Also, Sam got this kick-ass tattoo. Maybe he'll show it to you.

Also, I'm working on Chapter 2. Maybe I'll get this damn thing done after all.

The birthday

Thank you all for the birthday wishes. Sam, your eloquence in love always fills my heart to its bated brim.

Writing

As you all know, I'm working pretty hard on the diss. Watching movies is still fun—we saw Yes Man last night—but writing isn't so much fun anymore.

This is to say that I might take a little break from the blog. Otherwise, I'll just use it as a forum for complaint and self-doubt. Which I'm feeling a lot of lately.

{sigh}

There are days when I think that writing a dissertation is beyond my ability. This is one of them.

More news

So it turns out that I only need two signatures for my proposal, which means they can approve it next week, fucking finally. So that's great. Also great is that my DGS and my committee got together to scrape together some funding for me for the fall!!! It warms my cockles to think that they just went and did it. Also, I turned in a draft of my introduction.

So now, the writing must really begin. 

Also, kudos to Sam for being so supportive by watching some Stan Laurel with me. Thanks, baby.

To chortle

When I read scholarly texts, my standards for what is funny become much lower. Anything resembling humor becomes a welcome relief. Take Gerald Edelman's rendering of an apparently old "joke":

A race track . . . was failing financially. The track management consulted three experts: an accountant, an engineer, and a physicist. The accountant recommended restructuring of the balance sheets; the engineer suggested that the slow track could be fixed by slight banking and better drainage. When his turn came, the physicist went up to the blackboard, drew a circle, and said, "Let us replace the horse with a sphere."

The joke structure is there: A reasonable premise—racetracks fail, I guess. An unusual assortment of people—who calls a physicist for advice anyway? The progression—first one, then another, then the [and I use this term loosely] punchline. 

I admit that it made me chortle, which word by the way Lewis Carroll coined, as a combination of chuckle and snort. I guess some logicians are funnier than others.

New Outside Reader

On a dissertation committee in my department, you must have 3 departmental readers and 1 reader outside the department. My current outside reader is a poor soul in the Art Department, but my project has evolved to the extent that it is well afield of what this woman knows.

So what's a person to do? Reach out. I wrote an email to the author of my currently favorite scholarly text and asked him to be my reader. And, folks, he said yes!

I'm not especially good at this sort of thing, so I'm pretty excited that Dr. Singer agreed to participate. He said that my project "looks very interesting," and he thinks that it'll possibly help him prepare for a course he wants to teach. All to the good. 

Picture pages