more grey, listening to things from iceland to life my spirits. (note: it works!)
the inside of the house continues to build itself up into something respectable-looking. last night i cleaned the bathroom & in doing so had the same thought i have every time i clean the bathroom, namely Why do i secretly enjoy this chore? also, If i enjoy it, why don't i do it more regularly? also, Why don't i like scrubbing the kitchen?
it may or may not have something to do with porcelain.
in college i wrote a sestina (!) about porcelain. it referenced L� Y� who wrote, many centuries ago & in chinese, that tea must only be served in porcelain cups, & then goes on to point out that now porcelain is used to cover things in our bathrooms. usually i was more subtle than all of this. as in the very nice bit, in the same poem, about sitting in the pink bathtub with N, & one of us quoting collette at the other: "she says your knees are like oranges."
maybe i should rewrite that poem.
also you can tell that my microbiology instructor thinks that the lymph system gets a boring rap. she said, "it's the unsung hero!" (note: she has previously said that epidemiologists are the unsung heroes.) she said, "you hear all the time about people who bled to death. but you never hear about someone lymphing to death. but it can happen!"
then she showed us a photograph of a boy with elephantiasis of the scrotum. this from the woman (a biologist, no less) who can't bring herself to say the word "vagina." she then brought up that story, the man wheeling his elephantiastical scrotum around in a wheelbarrow.
vagina! vagina vagina vagina!
