Mysteries, or: Why Is Self Always So Confused?

Self cannot for the life of her figure out why The Man returns from the office bearing bushels of corn, fresh tomatoes, oranges etc etc, and even tomato plants, week after week.  Someone in his office plies him with the produce.  Last night, self was just congratulating herself on finally having consumed the last two pieces of corn from Anonymous Donor, when The Man walked in the door with —  a whole armful of new ears of corn.  Whoever this person is, we must write a thank-you note.  Or send a box of Godivas.  The Man says everyone in his office gets provided with produce by this generous farmer/tech worker.  So now this is the way self imagines The Man’s office:  big glass building, industrial park in East Bay, farmer/tech worker, drives to work in a pick-up laden with produce, hands them out.  Self had a long career working (first as a program administrator, then as a part-time teacher) and not once in all that time did any office colleague approach this level of generosity.  No corn, no tomato plants, no oranges, no giant Harry & David pears.  Nothing.  Funny, but we’ve attended two office parties now, and on both occasions self and The Man have sat in splendid isolation with people The Man doesn’t know.  Except for one sort of plump, lively girl who kept asking The Man to snap her picture.  Self does remember her because she was extremely, extremely giggly.  Is Giggly Girl the Farmer?

Is self going to be able to enjoy watching James Franco and Seth Rogen’s movie “This is the End” (Eric D. Snider rating:  B) or is she simply too old to sit through a movie that Snider calls “a bawdy, marijuana-scented inside joke about the Apocalypse”?

How does one Tweet?  She has currently six followers.

When she backed her car out of the driveway yesterday, both the brake light and the oil change indicator on her Dashboard lit up.  Does this mean her car is finally going to give up the ghost?  She offered it to Sole Fruit of Her Loins for the summer, as he has a job in Menlo Park.  If her car did indeed give up the ghost, how will son get to work?  More important, how will self be able to do anything?  Won’t this mean having to get a new car?  No, two new cars, one for son and one for herself?  Who can afford buying two new cars simultaneously?  Possibly The Man?  Can she even broach the subject with him?

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: Curves 5

Aerosoles, $7, Payless Shoe Source Going-Out-of-Business Sale, Years Ago

Aerosoles, $7, Payless Shoe Source Going-Out-of-Business Sale, Years Ago

These are self’s most comfortable shoes.  She wore them all over Venice.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Words: Hurstwood

Sister Carrie, by Theodore Dreiser, p. 111:

Hurstwood, to Carrie (Carrie’s been introduced to him by an acquaintance, Drouet.  Drouet introduced Carrie to Hurstwood as “Mrs. Drouet.”  Nevertheless, Hurstwood soon discerns that Mrs. Drouet spends much time alone.  And he has also seen Drouet in the company of other women.  When the opportunity arises, Hurstwood tells Carrie the following):  “I am practically alone.  There is nothing in my life that is pleasant or delightful.  It’s all work and worry with people who are nothing to me.”

As he said this, Hurstwood really imagined that his state was pitiful.  He had the ability to get off at a distance and view himself objectively —  of seeing what he wanted to see in the things which made up his existence.  Now, as he spoke, his voice trembled with that peculiar vibration which is the result of tensity . . .

How interesting, self thinks.  Hurstwood wants Carrie to love him.  At the same time, he’s telling himself the story of —  himself as an unloved man.  It’s self-pity, but he doesn’t know that.  In the meantime, Carrie, who is very young, just 18, is stunned but basks “in the warmth of his feeling.” What, she wonders are her own hesitations worth when measured against the needs of this man Hurstwood, who “glowed with his own intensity”?

Further:  “You think,” he said, “I am happy; that I ought not to complain?  If you were to meet all day with people who care absolutely nothing about you, if you went day after day to a place where there was nothing but show and indifference, if there was not one person in all those you knew to whom you could appeal for sympathy or talk to with pleasure, perhaps you would be unhappy too.”

Let’s skip the rest, as we already know where that is going.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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