Friday, November 28, 2008


This Thanksgiving-
My sister had either the stomach flu or food poisoning. Either way it wasn't pretty.
I ran out of stove gas in the middle of cooking.
I roasted an 11 pound turkey named Gillian.
We ate.
We drank.
We were thankful.
There was turkey and stuffing and pumpkin bread and sweet potato casserole and sweet potato rolls and green beans and salad and cranberry sauce and pecan pie. But alas, we couldn't find any football on the internet.
All in all, not bad. Well, I could have done without the vomit.

Book rec: The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. LeGuinn

Thesis watch: 27 pages, and writer's block


Joseph said...

I'm sorry, there are some omissions in this story:
- Why was the poor turkey, may it RIP, named Gillian?
- What did you do without gas?
- What were you thankful about? It wasn't your "safe delivery to the New World" like the Spanish settlers on September 8, 1565, or was it?
- How can you read a book per week, watch football on the Internet, cook without gas *and* expect your thesis to be anything else than blocked? (Just kidding, the more you do, the more time you have. It's a contradiction but it's true.)

Putting in my tuppence worth: I think writer's block is related to expectations of perfection. Just write, you'll make it better later.

Anonymous said...

joseph you clearly have no conception of how fast my sister can read...

Joseph said...

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began,
So is it now I am a man,
So be it when I shall grow old
Or let me die!
The child is father of the man:
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety

-- William Wordsworth

(Thanks to Fleur who made me know this poem.)

Rogue Unicorn said...

The Lake Isle of Innisfree
W.B. Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; 10
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Shan-Glad to see you here