04 March 2010

now that i've caught up on my bumping-into-walls thing

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Trish and I watched "Home" last night and I could feel the hysteria rising from my inner cosmos when they were getting to the permafrost part. Even though I'd already seen it twice, I was wanting them to show bubbling methane, show people lighting the burning methane bubbles in arctic lakes, instead of being so "no one knows" about it. I was wanting them to somehow have edited in the part where fashion models burst through the screen and their faces dissolve into methane bubble flames so we'd get the picture about what supposedly no one knows. We know methane is a much more powerful greenhouse gas than CO₂. So how unknowing can we be?

Anyway, the visit messed with my already outrageous sleep disorder thing and I had to have me some REM sleep after Trish started for home. I dreamed her daughter and her friend were arguing with her in the other room about throwing a party, that I was working on my computer at her house and they were in the other room and raising their voices about this and also almost arguing over who I was there to visit. Somehow, mystically, I'd been upgraded to cool old bat from my twenty-year firm position next to her mother and father as just plain unbearably old and embarrassingly—HUMILIATINGLY— strange.

I could hardly believe my ears and popped my head out to look at the scene. Trish was nowhere to be seen, but her daughter was holding a baby and her friend was there next to her, vying for baby cuddling time. Outrageous as this scenario is to even contemplate from the innocence of one's sleep, both girls beamed at me as though I were a hero and I recoiled, going back to my pressingly busy whatever on the computer. Some young men, but not young enough men, were there to take the girls to this party in contention and one of them stopped me to speak admiringly to me, but I just went back to my machine. These young people thought I rocked because I believed in the same revolution they did. I got it about the plutocratic perfidy and the methane bubbles. I guess I validated their righteous anger. There was all kinds of turmoil out there, and there started to be lots of turmoil on my computer, where every page was switching to some pink—I hate pink— spam page and all my efforts to reboot were only bringing up this pink page in windows all over the place.

I was both lethally alarmed and transcendentally serene about this, and the strange psychic pitch of the tussle between mother and daughter was still going on in the other room. Briefly we cut to me being using some nonexistent neighbor's internet connection and him coming home and finding me at it but ignoring me. Then we slide to some little used stairwell space where there was a mound of very wildly colored, glitzy material pillows, semi-stuffed and semi-heaped behind the banister and I'm griping to some invisible girl about what in the world does her mother need to buy all this crap all the time for as I'm settling back to my computer work, to make the unspeakable Mac virus or malware or whatever go away, but it was involving some physical moves probably not actually involved in this work in real life. My body was trying to make these moves and very, very alarmingly could not because, well, because it was actually tangled up in my comforter in bed and all attempts to push back from my machine in my desk chair were failing abysmally.

So this ended up ending my nap in a fairly heart-thumping manner just after I saw the not young enough men going off to the party with the girls....

And, having done a lot of tromping in the forest and on the beach and by the lily fields and through the timber barons' graveyard in the last couple days, my sinuses are so swollen that it's effortful to suck in enough air and my legs are a little on the wibbly side from more mileage than they usually do, so bed just keeps being my main interest today. And I keep replaying "Home" in the background to help drown out my wrath over stuff like this... and this....

I think I'm going to pack it all the way in spectacularly early-for-me, and see how it goes tomorrow.

1 comment:

  1. 8 million tons of methane isn't so much. Livestock farts put out ten times that amount.


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