Jun. 16th, 2013 09:57 pm
Interrupture
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muckefuckI was so excited going into this weekend that I was bummed to find out that our brunch date with Turtle and her wife wasn't for another week. Friday night I slept ten hours and awoke feeling better-rested than I have since May. I was primed to be social. Then about mid-afternoon, it all went south. Abdominal pain, cramps. It wore me out. I didn't want dinner and I didn't want to stray far from the house.
The next morning, I was supposed to meet the Gang (Greysong, Scruffy, Mazeppa) for brunch at Meinl. They'd even moved the location at my request, so I felt extra bad cancelling, but I just wasn't sure my system had recovered. Later in the morning, I decided I was up to accompanying![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu on his errands, but I made sure I came back home to eat. Whatever was wrong with me, it seems to have passed, but the damage to my socialising has been done.
At least I got most of the laundry done Saturday before things got really bad. Plus is rained enough that I didn't need to go out and water. (I was also pleased with myself for getting the basil in the ground Friday night while the weather was good.) Today I was able to do a little weeding, pick up trash on the parkway as a Father's Day gift for Scooter, and fit in an hour-and-a-half phone call to my father as he killed time at a hotel in Fairfax.
I also got a chunk of reading done, polishing off Petals and starting on The book of secrets by M.G. Vassanji. I was drawn to it because it's also set in East Africa (both during and after British administration), but the two novels could hardly be more different from each other. Ngũgĩ writes from the vantage point of the colonised, where Vassanji's is the view of the coloniser (both the Englishman and the Indians he brought in his wake). As a result, he has none of the anger, none of the bitter disappointment at the failure of Uhuru to bring emancipation from the capitalist system. I'm still not sure where he's going exactly, but Ngũgĩ's work also took about a hundred pages for the narrative to become compelling.
The next morning, I was supposed to meet the Gang (Greysong, Scruffy, Mazeppa) for brunch at Meinl. They'd even moved the location at my request, so I felt extra bad cancelling, but I just wasn't sure my system had recovered. Later in the morning, I decided I was up to accompanying
monshu on his errands, but I made sure I came back home to eat. Whatever was wrong with me, it seems to have passed, but the damage to my socialising has been done.At least I got most of the laundry done Saturday before things got really bad. Plus is rained enough that I didn't need to go out and water. (I was also pleased with myself for getting the basil in the ground Friday night while the weather was good.) Today I was able to do a little weeding, pick up trash on the parkway as a Father's Day gift for Scooter, and fit in an hour-and-a-half phone call to my father as he killed time at a hotel in Fairfax.
I also got a chunk of reading done, polishing off Petals and starting on The book of secrets by M.G. Vassanji. I was drawn to it because it's also set in East Africa (both during and after British administration), but the two novels could hardly be more different from each other. Ngũgĩ writes from the vantage point of the colonised, where Vassanji's is the view of the coloniser (both the Englishman and the Indians he brought in his wake). As a result, he has none of the anger, none of the bitter disappointment at the failure of Uhuru to bring emancipation from the capitalist system. I'm still not sure where he's going exactly, but Ngũgĩ's work also took about a hundred pages for the narrative to become compelling.