The title being yet another song that's on my mind as I write this (the Coheed and Cambria one, not the Metallica one). A murky day is staring at me through the window. I'm here at the usual journaling spot, in front of the flat screen monitor with a steaming cup of lemon tea. I still have a response letter to my Southern friend, and guitar playing to practice, and blogs to read. But I'm thinking about the fact that I have to move.
-I came home one day, and my mother started to nag to me about the fact that I drunk up all of the tea and didn't tell her.
-I tried explaining that there was no logical reason for me to tell her all the tea was gone. I bought the box of tea, and after it finished, I would've simply gotten around (at some point) to buying a new box of tea.
-She rambled on about there always having been tea in the house as long as I've lived there. And at that point, I was yelling at her, so she told me not to raise my voice at her.
-I said I was yelling because she never listens to me. Ever since I was young, she's never listened (See "The Good, The Bad and The Anxious" for explanation of this feeling).
-She said she was listening and then she said if I raise my voice at her again, I'll be looking for a new place to live.
-I said it would probably be better if I was homeless. At least they (the homeless) know how to listen.
-She said if you feel that way, then you got 6 months to find another place to live.
We've talked and gotten over all of this………..but I think I should still move.
In no kind of relation to what I've just mentioned, I read a newspaper article yesterday, handed to me by a co-worker, stating that new Afghan law says that Shiite (Islamic) men now are permitted to ask demand sex from their wives every 4 days. If the wife does not submit, the man is allowed to take it from her. In order to attempt to cater to the obviously oppressed gender, the law also states that a woman is also allowed to demand sex from her husband every 4 months. I thought, this is entirely too monstrous to be real. If the Islamic nation was seeking to invite people to their religion, they should perhaps think about hiring a new Public Relations team.
In other events sought after to keep my mind off of the fact that my ideal self is nowhere close to being realized, I think that Latin American authors are the new move. This is author that I'm currently reading, Roberto Bolaño, is a master of the narrative. I am currently reading "The Savage Detectives", which is a sprawling work about two poets named Arturo Belano and Ulises Lima, seeking another well-known but under-published poet named Ceserea Tinajero (I think I spelled that right). The story is told in excerpts, like daily interviews or journal entries, from the viewpoints of many characters in the novel. Very accessible and interesting read. I can only attempt to mimic his writing style here.