eglantine_br (eglantine_br) wrote,
eglantine_br
eglantine_br

From above, a bicycle

Yesterday a bike fell on my head. It happened like this-- our bedroom is very small. We keep the two dressers stacked, mine on his, so they make one tower of drawers, up to over my head. We keep his bike on top of that with the wheels actually touching the ceiling. Mine is at the end of the bed. I hang my towel over the handlebars.

Yesterday I moved things around. This is partly an attempt to make more space in the apartment, and partly what I have to do to clean. There is very little open floor here. Well I must have destabilized things, because his bike came down and hit me smartly on the head. I was not really hurt, just had that feeling you get when you fall down, that you have done something stupid. After a few minutes I put it back up. Lifting it up over my head when I am balanced on my bed is not easy.

It looks like the shutdown may actually be over. I am so relieved-- I had really been frantic about it. I won't feel really easy until the vote is done in the House and Senate, and the bill is signed. With any luck that should be tomorrow morning. After that they need to work to actually fix things so this never happens again.

I am reading The Charioteer. I should have read it years ago. I tore through the rest of Mary Renault years ago, but for some reason not that one. I may have flipped through it, some of the writing seems as if I might have seen it before long ago. The very beginning, where Laurie is a little boy and his parents are splitting reminds me of the opening of Fire from Heaven. She writes childhood very well. The confusion, the darkness of the lack of power-- she gets that so right. And I am picturing Laurie as looking something like Archie.

I am at sort of a discouraged place in my own writing. I am working every day on the Marlowe thing, I know how I want it to feel, and some of the things I want to have happen, but I am having trouble getting there. My plan is to keep going, and try to fix it later. I can always take things out. That is easy. Putting them in is the work of it.

Lovely weather here, as the year turns to fall. The middle of the day is warm, but nights are cool. The leaves have not changed color yet, but they are looking ratty and worn. Hazel finds it exhilarating. We have had to stop her several times this week from chasing cats. She knows enough to be afraid of indoor cats, but outdoor cats are different somehow, and she wants to tree them
Tags: real life, writing about writing instead of writing
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