oh hell. today had been going really well: actually doing work at work today made the day go by faster than usual -- then i came home to find an envelope from africa. the contents were nearly unbelievable. the author, presently a member of the peace corps, told me in neat, curly cursive without a single blotted word or awkward sentence that she was a swat alum; since the skool continues to send her our paper, the phoenix, she read my review of amores perros ("love's a bitch"). she complimented me (it) and said that she intended to rent the film at her first opportunity. flattering enuf. then she went on to say that she was the person who interviewed me oh-so-long-ago and that i stuck in her mind as one of her favorites, so she cheered for me when she saw me accepted and is even prouder now to see that i am happily bedded down in my swat-nest. "i know that swat can be stressful and unnerving at times," she concluded, "but i just wanted you to know that you've had someone rooting for you all along, that you made an impression on someone along the way, and that your writing, even in the little old Phoenix, is reaching people in further corners of the globe than you probably ever imagined it would."
isn't that insane?
i was so thrilled i immediately called my mother.
good luck kept on coming: much better emails; hilary and jackie; plans w/ ilana and annie to go to franklyn's for the poetry open mic. when we finally got down there (late, of course) the circle had long-since formed and become un-inclusive. we got a table to ourselves instead and chilled for a while, then made plans to score, rent a new batch of 7, and party at my house. all was blissfully, vanilla-y smooth.
we dashed to my house to check messages, thinking becca or tamar might've called, and instead found a furious message from my mother. i had left her a car in the appropriate place, only apparently the wrong one. ilana annie and i sped off toward friendship heights and passed her, walking -- she waved us on, still fuming. everyone in my family has a tendency toward anger and i figured i deserved it: earler, i had burst out at ilana for something innocuous. karma, dude.
plans aborted. i went to the video store alone and rented another week's worth, but was further dispirited to find that annie hall, harold and maude, and sophie's choice had all mysteriously disappeared. would they ever be replaced? not likely, shrugged the cashier/manager.
how can you argue w/ someone who doesn't care?
i came home and i've been tiptoeing around my mother since. shite, man. that's all i have to say.
My Funeral Gondola by Fiona Sze-Lorrain
8 minutes ago