Night One
Last night was night one at Rocheblave, the camp out, a return to my roots. Not so bad; the mosquitoes love me. Slept very little but I have planned ahead and made up for that by sleeping too much in the past.
Little T is crying, I don't know why, but the emotion of it is music to my ears.
I don't really work twelve hour days everyday, obviously, but in preparation for the plumbers I've been sweating and drinking bucketloads of liquid as I go about my solitary way. This seems very much like another plane, and drug free, if you don't count the ice cold budweisers.
Erica tonite made me read to her Curious George Flies a Kite, "can't you read it yourself," I pleaded sitting in a straightback five feet in front of the frigid blast furnace by Fedders. "I can't read," said the almost 8-year-old Erica, and so I said, "ok, but only this one," and I was smiling the "I mean business" smile and she smiling conspiratorily with me said, "that's right, only one." After I finished I said "I wish you could read to me sometime," and so she did, Curious George Flies a Kite, the first four or five pages, by herself with really minimal help from me, and I'm thinking, despite the previously discussed (but not with you my dear readers), possibility that she is only memorizing and not reading, I don't know, whatever it is, she's getting better at it, and I'm so fucking proud I could just go out and lie down in the sticky, trash strewn, oil stained gutter of Dumaine and cry my eyes out, and someday--perhaps inspired by the angst of a gangster's son--I will.
Just enough time left for a movie review and this one is me at the dollar show, last night at the nine o'clock in Kenner, thinking by eleven--this being an hour I am rarely awake for--most certainly the climate will be less oppressive, and I will sleep the purest Rocheblave sleep--but optimism ain't buying me shit, and it's hot hot hot after the movie, which by the way was Final Destination, a movie that can only be given the rating of good, but as good movies go, this was a great one, and if you disagree with my assessment perhaps it is because you have yet to arrive on that plane.
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Last night was night one at Rocheblave, the camp out, a return to my roots. Not so bad; the mosquitoes love me. Slept very little but I have planned ahead and made up for that by sleeping too much in the past.
Little T is crying, I don't know why, but the emotion of it is music to my ears.
I don't really work twelve hour days everyday, obviously, but in preparation for the plumbers I've been sweating and drinking bucketloads of liquid as I go about my solitary way. This seems very much like another plane, and drug free, if you don't count the ice cold budweisers.
Erica tonite made me read to her Curious George Flies a Kite, "can't you read it yourself," I pleaded sitting in a straightback five feet in front of the frigid blast furnace by Fedders. "I can't read," said the almost 8-year-old Erica, and so I said, "ok, but only this one," and I was smiling the "I mean business" smile and she smiling conspiratorily with me said, "that's right, only one." After I finished I said "I wish you could read to me sometime," and so she did, Curious George Flies a Kite, the first four or five pages, by herself with really minimal help from me, and I'm thinking, despite the previously discussed (but not with you my dear readers), possibility that she is only memorizing and not reading, I don't know, whatever it is, she's getting better at it, and I'm so fucking proud I could just go out and lie down in the sticky, trash strewn, oil stained gutter of Dumaine and cry my eyes out, and someday--perhaps inspired by the angst of a gangster's son--I will.
Just enough time left for a movie review and this one is me at the dollar show, last night at the nine o'clock in Kenner, thinking by eleven--this being an hour I am rarely awake for--most certainly the climate will be less oppressive, and I will sleep the purest Rocheblave sleep--but optimism ain't buying me shit, and it's hot hot hot after the movie, which by the way was Final Destination, a movie that can only be given the rating of good, but as good movies go, this was a great one, and if you disagree with my assessment perhaps it is because you have yet to arrive on that plane.
- jimlouis 7-10-2000 3:00 am