What am I saying… they're all like this. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and getting the same result, yet you still do the same things over and over. Getting the same result.
In my case, this translates to: I have the best of intentions to do something, become overwhelmed, then crawl into a corner and whimper because nothing ever gets done. I come out of the corner, eventually, to find the cat has relieved himself of urine on top of the still relatively new sofa, go back into the corner and sob until I've thoroughly emptied myself of water.
And I have no idea why nothing gets done!
So you know, I DID start Ulysses (SEE: Project 2012, Ulysses) though I was traveling over the weekend of Bloomsday and wound up starting a day late. I KNOW. For this I deserve a scolding and rap across the knuckles with a ruler but the good old days of scowling nuns are behind me, more's the pity.
Speaking of, Sister Jeanne, @!$%*@!!.
I started the book in the train station in Memphis, of all places, about as removed from Dublin as you can get. I made it through the first section, now I need to visit Frank Delaney's wonderful instructive video tutorial on this section, so he can tell me what I read.
No, really, a few pages made sense, at least to my mind, which regularly jumps around like a monkey in heat, much like Joyce's style. Stephen Dedalus was talking to Buck Mulligan and some Haines person, in the home they share. Mulligan right away shows us what a prick he is, for telling Stephen he caused his own mother's death by refusing to kneel beside her bed and pray for her as she was dying, Stephen leaves their abode justifiably pissed off. Then a bunch of other stuff happens.
Try using that on your exams, literature majors.
In other reading, my interlibrary loan of Kate Summerscale's Mrs. Robinson's Disgrace: The Private Diary of Victorian Lady arrived and I started reading that Friday night, when I was gifted with insomnia until 5:00 a.m., fell asleep sitting up and nearly missed my Saturday morning doctor appointment, which was at 10:00.
Speaking of a monkey in heat, Mrs. Robinson (this is a true story, mind) was. Very Madame Bovary so far but in Mrs. R's case she kept a diary of her sadness and attempted exploits, which eventually damns her. Duh. Silly, stupid woman! Didn't she know she was supposed to suffer in silence, like a good little Angel of the House, sneak around but shut the hell up about it?
Wot else? Oh, I read some here and there but nothing much to speak of, since I spent so much time alternating corners in which to cringe and weep. Still haven't completely unpacked from the Booktopia trip last weekend but I did manage to do something that has needed doing for months: I cleaned out the back of our van!! Calloo! Callay!
My children call our van the "bookmobile" and avoid it like the plague. Actually sitting in it involves the sweeping of books, magazines and various papers off the seats, the general atmosphere rendered toxic by the surplus of papers, pens and the occasional granola bar (In the wrapper!) that's been stepped on five times but which may come in handy should I find myself stranded some day and flat granola bars retain their nutritional value, thankyouverymuch.
When I make a turn – or stops suddenly – something's bound to fly through the air, with the potential to knock an unlucky soul unconscious. But no more! Half the crap has now officially been donated to Goodwill, the other half brought into the house in laundry baskets, now sitting in the entrance to the living room we never use anyway – well, save at Christmas – where it will reside until the time comes I'm unstuck from my usual ways again and repeat the process of separating wheat from chaff.
There was physical therapy for my piriformis syndrome issue, as well, and I am happy to report I'm finally seeing some improvement, cross fingers. Weather hotter than hell (giving me the opportunity to acclimate) and there's been no rain in forever, so the grass is turning that yellow/brown color I despise. Oh, and Forbes came out with an article listing Library and Information Science the absolute most useless master's degree!
We're number one! We're number one!
I'll end here, while I can still refrain from crawling into a corner, and wish you all a lovely remainder of your weekend, depending on your time zone and I promise to vomit forth more eclectic and thoughtful prose in the very near future.