Week of Lame

I skipped on two interesting things this week, because the weather’s got me down. Here in New England the streets are empty and cold, while in New Orleans it’s almost Mardi Gras and there’s an ALA conference I’m too broke to attend. Well, the combined joy of librariansm and the Big Easy would probably just…make me way too happy, anyway. And pain is good for art. I’m oozing in material for art lately.

Tuesday night Mr. Bush spoke across the street from where I work, at the Boston Latin School. At first I was all hyped up, ready to go to a cool protest, maybe hang out and meet some other people. But as the day wore on and e-mails flew around, I realized an awful truth: Mr. Bush had picked a great time to come to Boston.

The weather was lousy – cold, wet and gray. Most students weren’t back in town from the holidays yet, guaranteeing a smaller than normal protest crowd. What could be seen of the sun set before 5pm, when he was due to speak. Some protesters decided they didn’t want to risk squishing the kids who went to the school, and the issue that the President was there to speak on failed to garner much interest. So when I left the library at 5 I stopped and peeked at the protesters for a few minutes, but didn’t join in. The crowd of around 75 people had a marching oval around some drummers who were trying to keep spirits up, but it was clear the night was kind of a bust, for both them and the Prez. It just doesn’t seem like he’s even worth scorning anymore. If I knew some people who were all up and angry over Enron, I’d join in on that, but…jeez, with this guy, even his protests are lame.

Wednesday Ralph Nader spoke at a theater I pass sometimes on my way home from work. I paused opposite the venue on the street, and then shook it off. I couldn’t think of anything relevant that Nader would have to say to me right now, even though I’ve actually voted for him in the past. I have this overwhelming feeling lately that the Next Big Something is coming, the Next Big Something that’s Going To Change Everything is right around the corner, and it’ll make all this other noise around us obsolete. I don’t know what or who or how this change is going to happen. I just feel it lurking.

Thursday I slowly came down with a vicious stomach virus and Aral had oral surgery. Well, Aral had her oral surgery first, and while I was waiting on her at the doctor’s in Kenmore Square, I decided to go to the comic book store where the guy who gave me the Lynda Barry CD works. I’m sure this guy thinks I’m on crack now. While I was there, I was sort of groggy, and I decided to tell him about my recent research into the life of William Moulton Marston, inventor of the lie detector and Wonder Woman. After getting my $5 worth of Batman, I stumbled back to the doctor’s, where Aral was recovering from anesthesia.

While she was high as a kite and I was keeping her company, I decided to tell her about the incredibly vivid dream I had the night before.

*~*~*~*~*~*I had a dream that my roommate and I were in Atlanta, visiting for some reason. We decided to do something touristy, and so went to Tara, the big Margaret Mitchell estate on Peachtree. Only, when we got there, I got angry. I was mad because the tourist spot wasn’t the “real” Tara. I decided that we had to find the real Tara, and went somewhere and did research.

Somehow I found out that Tara had been cleverly hidden from the public by confusing zoning laws. Aral and I drove a rental car to the real Tara, which looked just like the movie set – the big white house surrounded by farmland, even though it was still somehow in Atlanta. When we parked the car and stepped up on the porch, all the windows and doors were open, so we walked in.

There, in a rocking chair near a window, was a middle aged woman in business wear. I told her who we were, and she smiled at me. She told me she had always known I would figure it out, that she had been waiting for me. “Here”, said the lady “this is yours. It’s always been here, you just had to find it.” She handed me an envelope, and when I opened it up, inside was a check for several thousand dollars.*~*~*~*~*~*

Aral, who was still giddy from painkillers, started laughing and said “Because God as your witness, you’ll never go hungry again.”

“Shut up, man, I’m only telling you this because you were in it.”

The vivid dream should have been a clue to me that I was getting sick; I almost never have dreams of that quality that I can remember unless I have a fever. Sure enough, after I helped Aral get her prescriptions and get settled down in her room for the day, the virus hit me. We’ve been a couple of pathetic people this weekend. I ran a fever almost all night Thursday, spent a miserable Friday on the couch, and only felt a little better Saturday. Aral is on heavy antibiotics and pain killers and only manages to shuffle from the bedroom to the kitchen every four hours for a glass of water to wash down more Oxycotin with.

Well, at least it’s not like I’ve been missing any work. I’m still waiting for my first professional interview. It looks like retail is once again going to become part of my life, hi ho, hi ho.

Baring, that is, mystical checks from a hidden Tara...

I *really* need to get out more.