1. My dryer died Friday morning. Its name was LE8207W2, but it longed to be called Rhoda. Goodbye Rhoda, we will miss you.
2. I had breakfast by myself. My husband had to work. I multi-tasked while I ate breakfast (Sorry, my Bhuddist friends). I ate eggs with veggies, pancake with blueberries, a ton of coffee, and orange juice. I ate while watching a ton of "how to fix your dryer" videos made by guys named Jim, Joe, Eddy on youtube. I always trust chubby guys named Eddy, especially if they have a nice smile and a round chunky belly.
3. I somehow ended up watching a ton more videos about brilliant mathematicians. Happinness is learning about Kurt Godel's mathematics and not having to take a test. And who needs drugs when you have Cantor's mathematics? What a high!
4. Of course, these youtube videos let me to my old friend, Ted. Yes, Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber. He's not really a friend, but Ted takes me back to the early 1990's when my little sisters and I competed for the unabomber look on Saturday mornings. I always won. Of course, it helped me to be a little weird and antisocial.
a) If I could time travel, I would want to spend one day with Van Gogh and another day with Ted Kaczynski. We wouldn't say much. I'm not a good talker. I want to be with them for the silence of their mouths. I think I would hear music in Van Gogh's every day objects, but not in Ted's. Ted's coffee was probably sad.
b) I keep a picture of Van Gogh's little bedroom next to our bed because all the solitude of one day fits in his room. I don't keep a picture of Kaczynski's little cabin. My husband would find it weird and I would too. It would actually remind me that he killed three human beings. Perhaps one day I'll buy a water color painting of Thoreau's cabin instead.
5. I went to a laundromat to dry all of our clothes by myself. My husband didn't go because he had been working all day and well, he deserved to rest. Laundromats are lonely places, especially, on a Friday night. There were four of us doing our laundry. The three other customers were mexican like me. They were are single young guys from Mexico, illegals, probably. All had this "What the fuck am I doing in this country?!" look on their faces. I felt sorry for them. I graded some papers because their sadness was contagious.
I like this song. It's a waiting song.
Soy una taza, ¡un cucharón!
1 day ago