Badger bag - messy, surly, full of books

"She has been called, and rightly so, the Boswell of the Octopus."
Dastardly Dan needs help, he is back from the "big house" and if you can spare a little cash for him give it to me and I will pass it on.

Sunday, February 08, 2004

and also

My head still hurts from dropping the giant metal heater cover on myself on Friday.

And asthma is not great, I am blowing 425-450 instead of my usual 525-550 cubic whatevers in the little measuring thingie. 500 is okay but I notice it. Under 400 I just sit hunched over and think about breathing calmly and shallowly, not panicking. Or demand that people pound on my back while I cough in the shower. I started on some s1ngulair. lots of albuter0l today. also the weird inhaled steroid powder thing that comes in a round ufo-shaped case. It looks like one of those round kazoos, or an alien pack of birth control pills.

I am thinking that hiring people to refinish the floor or possibly just leaving it as it is would be smart. Rook doesn't really have time... i dont want my mom doing it... It's clear that me doing it would fuck me up for weeks and would be stupid. I will reserve my strength for packing and unpacking. afterwards I will collapse with bronchitis and go on predn1sone. You will see. it happens every time I move.

yet the thought of the new house makes me quite happy as i picture its cheerful paint, its two bathrooms, its possible future piano, moomin's happy picking of lemons from the lemon tree, hanging with fun housemates, hosting playgroups on the patio...

Last summer when i was translating Yehudit's poetry with her... we kept having sandwiches on her tiny patio looking at a little square of green yard and hearing the distant hum of a lawnmower or some kids playing somewhere... and as we ate our bread and cheese we were both having a distinct feeling of awareness of all the places and people in the world where this is not possible, and feeling that, actually, this is what people fight for, a little garden, a sandwich, a moment of peace and being sure no one will burst in and shoot us... aware of the luxury of it.

posted by badgerbag 2/08/2004 11:19:00 PM comment

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Ranting, complaining, speculating, confessing from Badgerbag in an extended Crossing the Line ceremony.