Character (1/27/09 Tuesday)

Awoke to the sound of tapping, as of fingernails, on my window. Frozen rain. Then the ironic haunt of Sparks' "Equator" began. I was snug and reluctant to leave bed. I'd placed the alarm clock out of reach, but I could still hear the rhythmic clunk of the clumsy wall clock. I'd gotten to bed before ten the night before, so I knew I'd gotten plenty of sleep. My stomach had been upset then, too, from an overingulgence of coffee, probably, augmented by the rising gorge induced by Rob Catto of Bunker Man, the basest, most reprehensible protagonist I've ever come across. It was much better in the morning (my stomach, not the book), and I've been reading Ring of Bright Water, a swift and certain palliative. I'd finish it off if I didn't expect to need it after I finish Bunker Man, though how Rob Catto can posibly be redeemed as a human being (and that's all there is to read for now, redemption) is beyond my ken. Blackden did not in the least prepare me for Bunker Man.

I took a walk last night, for a little exercise, fresh air and verticality. Today I'll have to take one up to the store for milk and a couple other things for the girl's dinner. The rain, still falling, won't bother me--I'll be well protected--in fact, it will further insulate me from contact. But my dream of forty-eight hours without speaking to someone other than myself will fall a few hours short.

I have not heard from Jan since I last wrote her. I'm not concerned. We don't know each other to take offence. She said she'd contact me when she next came into town, a trip contingent upon a job interview here. Apparently, she hasn't gotten it. Another possibility, which amuses me in the only way it could--ironically--is that she googled me and found my blog and was scared off. The blog, then, will have assumed the role of albatross to prospective relationships, though I would rather consider it a litmus test. The blog and all I've expressed in it are a permanent part of me that must be accepted as such. When I told Stacey of this speculation, she said, "So, are you going to take down the blog?" "No," I said firmly, almost shrilly. "I have nothing to apologize for." Anyone who judges me by the blog as unfit for their company is right, though the reflection is on them.

By the late afternoon yesterday I found myself a bit bored, but not so much that I was willing to dissipate the time in watching tv or noodling on the computer. I hope never to get that bored, though I might end up at the mall to do some clothes shopping. Besides finishing a few books, I don't have any goals for the week, but when I'm not reading I'd like to be applying myself creatively. I have some serious grunt work to do on the manuscript: Every paragraph break was removed in copying it to Word, so I have to find them, put them back, and print out a fresh copy to supplant the one that cost me nearly nine dollars to print. Not exactly a creative endeavor, but closely linked to one. Distillation of necessity has seen to my having very few distractions left to play with. The computer may be the only one left. Free cell is one of my few remaining vices besides procrastination, but I won't turn the computer on for anything less than email.