Who was the main character, the odd and colorless Tazaki? Why hadn't he realized as a teenager that the women in his social group all found him attractive, intelligent, and having the stability they longed for.
Tazaki, instead, felt no sense of self-worth (his father was rarely around and they never had deep discussions).
But me, I obviously feel a lot for this book and am surprising myself by writing about it.
Last nite I lay down to read and to sleep
Here's the book club selection for March. It reads like a Young Adult book. Easy to read but not particularly enjoyable. My Brad Thor thriller has taken off again. They've anesthetized a Congo guerilla fighter, smuggled him into the USA so they can interrogate him.
So I'm halfway asleep and decide to lobby for Donna to appear on the Duke of Oz show. The day before I sent a photo of Donna - a really b'ful woman - plus her poem Gift of Life.
So I go downstairs to my laptop and type up an email to Silvana, telling her the main issues we struggle with when we have bipolar, and send her our 30-minute video made by Larry Kirschner.
Suddenly, my email to Silvana disappears on the screen bc I hit that
Hold on. I'll send out a note on FB.
No answer yet on FB so I sent it to Macrone, who helps me with everything technical.
Touchpad is the answer. My son Daniel answered it on FB.
Back to last night. I've only got 20 minutes left of watching Collateral Damage with Schwarzanegger. Very exciting and improbable, yet fun to watch.
When I shoveled the snow this morning I thought I was pumping iron like Arnie.
Nancy Myers, across the street, already drove down the road, barreling along.
Delicious omelet for breakfast.
So my watching of the film was interrupted with a phone call from Rob. He was in a talking mood and thought I wasn't paying attn to him.
I was but I was surfing at the same time.
Anyway we discussed many real characters, real people we knew. He and I both have good insight about people.
Rob used to live in The Colonnade in Elkins Park. My late friend poet and headhunter Arthur Krasnow had his office there. When I read this back I'll remember what Arturo told me about how the place went downhill. I sure miss the man.
When I visited Rob there he'd let me swim in the overchlorinated pool. Oh, my aching eyes.
Am gonna right a quick poem right now about swimming.
Oh no! Look what came out
SHOVELING SNOW AT SEVENTY
Ready? she says
Blue shovel in hand
black boots on feet
red beret over hair
She pushes two-handed
the shovel down
rhyme of the
newly fallen snow
heavy as debt
But the woman
lifts up the
Tosses it to
again and again
like Arnold in
Without the blood
the handcuffs and
chains, only the
when she goes inside.
Upstairs I schlep my fat ass.