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Saturday, Feb. 21, 2004 / 12:40 p.m. ~Getting Past the Helmet Head~ I think I got too much sleep. Perhaps I should amend that. I got too much sleep last night. I was watching "Klute", and I'm not sure why, except it's on my internal list of movies that I will watch on television no matter what. If, say, "Jaws" is on, I'll tune in, I'll click, I'll flip over, even if I just catch the beginning, or the middle, or the end, and sometimes I'll sit and watch all of it. Same with "Rosemary's Baby", and even better if it's on one of the HBOs or Cinemaxes, unedited, commercial free is best. There are more, "Deliverance" is one. It was on, a basic cable channel that actually not only showed no commercials, but included the word 'fuck' and the entire rape scene, recently, two weeks ago perhaps. LOVE that film, always watch it. So, "Klute", last night. And I was thinking how amazing it is that Kiefer got Donald's mouth, he has his mouth, how is that possible? And his droopy eyes, with long lashes. Was there no mother? Are there no other genes? The jowls, Kiefer has these jowls, maybe those are his mother's? But Jane's hair, I can't get past it lately, the more I see this movie the more I cannot stand that helmet of hair. What is wrong with her, what WAS wrong, how did she allow it, whose idea was it, did people actually like it? The shag. I remember the shag, but that shag in particular, whoo, no, please, god, no! And the tinkly music, the 'ahhh ahhhh ahhhh' creepy background vocals, blech. Scary, sure, creepy, yeah, as aforementioned, but tiresome this time. I made a conscious decision to sleep through it this time. And I skipped dinner, this after shopping at the Farmer's Market and buying all kinds of fresh food to cook - maybe this was the problem, I have to cook now. I ate a blueberry cream cheese croissant because I was really hungry, sat with the movie, the bad hair, the tinkly creepy music, the blanket, the two cats, and this is actually lying, not sitting, and fell asleep, maybe 8:30ish. Ahhhh, fast asleep, waking to the movie, the end where she sits with the creepy guy, listening to the tape he made of her screaming as she was being beaten, tortured, and was it him, was he the torturer?? I can't even remember now. I woke to change the channel later, as I do, sleeping with the TV on, and to tell the G cat to shut up, as she hates me sleeping on the sofa, it goes against everything she knows to be real and true, the extraordinariness of the event disturbs her. She constantly urges me to go to the actual sleeping chamber, and I constantly roll over, shout, "STOP IT!" and/or "SHUT UP!", or loud grumblings at best. Or perhaps worst. This sleeping on the sofa thing is in a category by itself. It's a phenomenon. It's total denial. Everything is left up and running, no bedtime chores are performed. Nothing is washed, no vitamins are ingested, the bed is left made. The lights are left on, the TV is left on, volume controlled and channel changed at various points in the proceedings. Channel must be left on something conducive to productive and good sleep, no nightmares, please. I wake early, crack of dawn-ish, turn out lights finally, I'm up and walking around, and the thought is that if I do all this quickly enough, the turning off of fixtures, I can crawl back under the little blanket (read: 'throw'), with cat or two, and pretend I never got up, still shirk all nighttime responsibilities, and so I do. Finally, through closed blinds I see light, and I know I must join the living. I check answering machine messages, as I received two calls late last night, had to turn the ringer off because of the annoyance, and both were manly booty calls. One from Nelson in NYC, the other the painter. The painter finally calls, to return my email, to respond to my asking him out, 12:30 or later at night, asks me out for today. I was raised with manners, my mother was very proper, Victorian, but for a generation slightly removed. She was not all puritanical, she was affected by women's 'lib', and the sexual revolution, but she had scruples, and she would want a man to call days ahead, no doubt, this is how it is supposed to be. Alas, the girlie voice inside my head tells me it's all wrong for him to invite me so late, booty call late, and I have ignored the message so far. 1:23 p.m. as I look at my clock. This entry has been interrupted by 'instant message' chats, not unbidden. Not unwelcome, but my train has been derailed. I think I have nothing else to add. I am scattered and lost, mentally. I have too many things to do, and am slow to begin. I've achieved coffee. This is a start. I can/should clean, but movie matinees are now. I should call the painter, we should finally meet, we should view film together, but I don't know how I feel right now. I have catching up to do, in many areas, it feels as though so much has been neglected. Onward... Cost of the War in Iraq
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