Because of the miserable condition of the universe, my parents aren't coming this weekend, and propose to come next weekend instead, which is my last weekend in the city and already chock-a-block, thick, full, a real fatty strained Balkan yogurt of a weekend. So I might go to North Bay tomorrow with my brother and skip da work on Monday - that way if I don't spend every blessed minute with them next weekend I won't feel like the world's crappiest daughter. The only advantages to this plan are that I get to see the Shostakovitch dance spectacular tonight that Dale wrote about awhile ago, and that if I don't go back with my brother tomorrow I suppose I can pack a little bit.
I already finished (more or less) putting my papers in order last night, including a whole whack of journals and notes from my time in Piemonte and Paris, which was a little bit controversial until I settled into grad school. I couldn't help but enjoy the arrogance of the girl who wrote them, the pig-headed, angry arrogance of a girl who hadn't had such an opportunity to be pig-headedly arrogant before that, and enjoy reading such immediate accounts of such baffling behaviour. I think even at the time I was aware of saving up anecdotes and cautionary tales, and that eventually I was going to have to stop being a holy terror and start putting experiences in perspective and approach the world with authority instead of balls-out, snatch-first. There was such an element of exploration in those days that felt more dangerous than now.
Things are different now because I'm not quite so much of a bitch - I know how to protect myself from being a bitch better - and reading those notes wasn't quite like reading the notes of a stranger, but there was a divide, almost like I used to be a character I'd made up. The fun thing was I liked a lot of what I was reading - not necessarily the moral qualities of the character, but how I was writing. That was fun.
11 commenti:
Does that mean we shouldn't visit next weekend? We don't want to keep you from spending time with your parents before moving to another country. This was a last minute idea and if you're busy, you're busy.
I ditched old journals and things like that a long time ago. I hated reading about past relationships and sex and my ideas but I think that it was because it was too immediate after the events were over. I think if I had them now I might be able to read them and have a good laugh or to enjoy them in another way. But they have been tossed. I have no patience for myself.
No, it will be fine to have you over - I may not be able to do quite as much with you as I wanted but we can still do lots, and I'm looking forward to it.
I wouldn't toss my journals. I'd feel like that was betraying or dismissing the little moron who wrote them, and she's me, or my mother, so there you are.
I was alluding to you when I said that I know we all have a busy month coming up! You guys will have a great weekend, I'm sad that I won't see you before you go, but it will be sooooon enough!
I'm a huge pack rat, I don't throw out a spelling quiz that I wrote in grade four, much less a diary/journal. My mother did find my grade five one though - the year I discovered all the various contexts to use the word fuck. She told me she burned it but maybe she has it for me somewhere. I should ask...
I figure anyone - mums included - who dares look at my journals deserves the burning eyeballs the Piemonte/Paris editions would produce.
Or else they deserve kudos for suffering through my 'journal' handwriting, which is so indecipherable as to be an idioglossia for my eyes and my hand.
I'm glad we're still on. We need to explore the city of Toronto anyways so we will have plenty to entertain us when you are busy doing other things.
I have no excuse for tossing things. I just tend to say - this is dumb and toss it. I'm not very sentimental with things and I hate clutter. It gathers dust and makes me feel like crap. I like to think I'm not attached to stuff and since my parents sold our childhood home I had to make some decisions about what to keep and what to trash that were a bit premature. A lot gets trashed when you have to think about lugging it as you move from one one bedroom apartment to another.
I'm sure I'd be the same if my parents weren't so forgiving of the way I still occupy their space.
Haha - yes, one time you wrote me a note while you were hungover and it was pretty indecipherable!
I forgot to mention in my previous comment I was sad you'd be missing The Overcoat. Now, I'm not sad. Aren't you glad for me?
Meeting your past self is sometimes the most perfect form of measurement.
I'm still sad, Dale, but I'm also glad for me, and by extension you, because you've racked up happy karma by telling me about this when I'm too busy to read any press that could have told me to go. It was spectacular - fucking spectacular. Everyone should see it. Sugar, I think it's still on next weekend - you and your man should go.
I'm happy and relieved that you thought it was so good. I didn't want you tracking me down to get your money back!!
From the moment Canstage had the foresight to ask the audience members to unwrap their candies before the show started, Dale, it was worth the price of admission. Especially because I already had, so I could feel all smug-like.
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