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Jul. 12th, 2007 11:17 pmFinished my poem for the Royal Sarcophagus Society tonight. It’s called A Last Dispatch from Erebus, 1848, and obviously owes a massive debt to Dan Simmons’ The Terror…but hell, I like it, and hope Liisa Ladouceur will too. It’s always pleasant to be called a poet every once in a while, even though you know you’re really not.;)
Otherwise, today’s classes and last training session with Dona went equally well. I discovered I’d lost another pound, another point of body-fat and/or BMI, and another half-inch from my upper thigh; my waist remains pretty much the same, but I put that down to bloating. Oh, and my chest went down again, thank God. So now I’m on my own, and I just hope I can manage to drive myself as hard as she’s driven me all these months, because I really don’t want to backslide.
Today John Foote, my boss, offered me the chance to host the first TFS "Academy Movie Night": Black Snake Moan with Samuel L. Jackson and Christina Ricci, which I haven’t seen yet, though I did read the script online (surprisingly strong—it’s basically a classic Baby Doll-type 1950s Southern Gothic, except now you can show actual gang-bangs). A paying gig, so I took it. When I got home, to find Steve hadn’t even gotten it together enough to take Cal to Daycare, I told him it was next Wednesday, at 7:30 PM. "So…" I began; "…you need me to tape So You Think You Can Dance for you," he replied, quickly and distractedly. "No," I said, "I expect you to do that. What I was going to SAY, however, is that it’s annoying, because it means I’ll miss BodyCombat." Then I told him I had to go to the gym in an hour, and he said he assumed I’d already gone, since I took so long to come home—this even though he heard me make the damn appointment right in front of him, like yesterday.
And just for a moment, after all that, I looked at him very closely, and I thought (but did not say): Do you have any real idea what I DO every week? Or is it all just one big, vague drifting cloud of sound, of shutting and opening doors, of utterly random hellos and goodbyes and see you soon!s? If I went out one evening and never came back at all, how long would it take for you to notice?
But then we ate dinner and watched the results show, and the right people went home, and I was happy again. That’s as little as it takes, sometimes.
Otherwise, today’s classes and last training session with Dona went equally well. I discovered I’d lost another pound, another point of body-fat and/or BMI, and another half-inch from my upper thigh; my waist remains pretty much the same, but I put that down to bloating. Oh, and my chest went down again, thank God. So now I’m on my own, and I just hope I can manage to drive myself as hard as she’s driven me all these months, because I really don’t want to backslide.
Today John Foote, my boss, offered me the chance to host the first TFS "Academy Movie Night": Black Snake Moan with Samuel L. Jackson and Christina Ricci, which I haven’t seen yet, though I did read the script online (surprisingly strong—it’s basically a classic Baby Doll-type 1950s Southern Gothic, except now you can show actual gang-bangs). A paying gig, so I took it. When I got home, to find Steve hadn’t even gotten it together enough to take Cal to Daycare, I told him it was next Wednesday, at 7:30 PM. "So…" I began; "…you need me to tape So You Think You Can Dance for you," he replied, quickly and distractedly. "No," I said, "I expect you to do that. What I was going to SAY, however, is that it’s annoying, because it means I’ll miss BodyCombat." Then I told him I had to go to the gym in an hour, and he said he assumed I’d already gone, since I took so long to come home—this even though he heard me make the damn appointment right in front of him, like yesterday.
And just for a moment, after all that, I looked at him very closely, and I thought (but did not say): Do you have any real idea what I DO every week? Or is it all just one big, vague drifting cloud of sound, of shutting and opening doors, of utterly random hellos and goodbyes and see you soon!s? If I went out one evening and never came back at all, how long would it take for you to notice?
But then we ate dinner and watched the results show, and the right people went home, and I was happy again. That’s as little as it takes, sometimes.
