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Someone besides me…
Jan. 23rd, 2006 10:58 amLoses at life. That is not to say that I do not lose at life, but I'm not the only one. Sky Harbour Airport and Southwest Airlines also being institutions that have just lost at life.
In other words: I WANT MY CELLO DAMN IT! Not to mention my clothes. I kind of knew that my checked luggage wouldn't get on the plain when I saw the huge pile-up at security, and then the plane took off early. So I obsessively read the Aenead on the the flight to distract myself. I liked it, except for the interminable lists of who got slaughtered and how by whom, which were fairly boring. (But I noted Alecto -- a perfect name for a Death Eater, indeed -- and the various Amycuses (Amyci?) -- I couldn't quite see why that was appropriate -- and I particularly liked Virgil's analogy between Turnus's final weakness and the kind of dream where you're running but can't move no matter how hard you try. One doesn't tend to think of the Romans having the same kinds of dreams that one has oneself.)
When I filed my claim, they said they would get it to me later that night. So I stayed up until midnight (and ploughed through Richard II to distract myself, which worked very well -- I hadn't realized how much of it I knew (apart from the basic story and "this sceptered isle," which I already knew that I knew). This morning, I called and they said this afternoon. But they can't bring it until the weather clears a little. And it is STILL snowing. Therefore, God is also someone who loses at life.
But I did get my books this morning. And best of all, the François Villon is billingual! So is the Inferno but that really doesn't help me much.
I really want my bags.
Still waiting. I am full of nervous energy that is not going to settle until I have my cello.
Also, professors who are already frightening should not be allowed to wear all black.
4:00
Still nothing. I called again, he said he had sent someone out in the area, but that he had a bunch of deliveries to make before mine. I'm going to give it another hour, and then… and then… I don't know what I'll do. Call the number he gave me for the person making the deliveries, maybe.
In other words: I WANT MY CELLO DAMN IT! Not to mention my clothes. I kind of knew that my checked luggage wouldn't get on the plain when I saw the huge pile-up at security, and then the plane took off early. So I obsessively read the Aenead on the the flight to distract myself. I liked it, except for the interminable lists of who got slaughtered and how by whom, which were fairly boring. (But I noted Alecto -- a perfect name for a Death Eater, indeed -- and the various Amycuses (Amyci?) -- I couldn't quite see why that was appropriate -- and I particularly liked Virgil's analogy between Turnus's final weakness and the kind of dream where you're running but can't move no matter how hard you try. One doesn't tend to think of the Romans having the same kinds of dreams that one has oneself.)
When I filed my claim, they said they would get it to me later that night. So I stayed up until midnight (and ploughed through Richard II to distract myself, which worked very well -- I hadn't realized how much of it I knew (apart from the basic story and "this sceptered isle," which I already knew that I knew). This morning, I called and they said this afternoon. But they can't bring it until the weather clears a little. And it is STILL snowing. Therefore, God is also someone who loses at life.
But I did get my books this morning. And best of all, the François Villon is billingual! So is the Inferno but that really doesn't help me much.
I really want my bags.
Still waiting. I am full of nervous energy that is not going to settle until I have my cello.
Also, professors who are already frightening should not be allowed to wear all black.
4:00
Still nothing. I called again, he said he had sent someone out in the area, but that he had a bunch of deliveries to make before mine. I'm going to give it another hour, and then… and then… I don't know what I'll do. Call the number he gave me for the person making the deliveries, maybe.
