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Booklog
Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs
My mother is standing in front of the bathroom mirror smelling polished and ready; like Jean Nate, Dippity Do and the waxy sweetness of lipstick.
East of Eden by John Steinbeck
The Salinas Valley is in Northern California.
The Straw Men by Michael Marshall
Palmerston is not a big town, nor one that can convincingly be said to be at the top of its game.
Vineland by Thomas Pynchon
Later than usual one summer morning in 1984, Zoyd Wheeler drifted awake in sunlight through a creeping fig that hung in the window, with a squadron of blue jays stomping around on the roof.
Collected Fictions by Jorge Luis Borges
In 1517, Fray Bartolomé de las Casas, feeling great pity for the Indians who grew worn and lean in the drudging infernos of the Antillean gold mines, proposed to Emperor Charles V that Negroes be brought to the isles of the Caribbean, so that they might grow worn and lean in the drudging infernos of the Antillean gold mines.
Finished
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posted Thursday, September 20, 2001
Phone Call
I'm shaking.
You'd think after breaking up with someone and not talking to them for two weeks (two and a half, actually), I would be okay after calling them. It was good to hear his voice. He was in that sweet, somnolent, melancholy mood ? not unlike a good-looking shirt or hairstyle ? that I had always loved him in.
Secretly, part of me wanted him to be mean, upset, distant, or even slightly cool to me, but he was none of those things so now I'm left trembling. Blaming it on the coffee won't help any. I've got to identify this feeling inside of me, the root of this weed.
It's not nervousness, although it feels the same. Okay, well, maybe it is a bit of anxiety, tossed in with a few other emotions. But anxiety over what? Over what he might say to me, what he was thinking? A bit nervous that I might be stirring up a nest of snakes?
I just feel bad. And I shouldn't. Because everything turned out the way it was supposed to ? better than it was supposed to ? and I know deep down that it was the right decision. Why do I feel so bad?
One of the thoughts that keeps drifting back and forth in front of this question says, "Why ask why?" Just accept it. The thing of it is, I need to figure this out, because I don't want to feel this way again. I need to know what it is, how I planted it, and what's feeding it.
Well, right now, it's time to feed myself. My stomach is growling. Maybe that's why I'm trembling... it's always easier to blame your problems on external sources rather than internal.
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