Only a year and two months after I moved in, my mirrors are finally hung! Pics
! I'm so pleased with how they look and the guy was so fast! He was done with both in less than an hour! Next weekend, the bench is assembled and that'll go under the mirror in the bedroom - between the windows but away from the radiator - and everything will be complete!!!
The exterminator came also, which is good because last night was like a nightmare in the kitchen. Things had been mostly quiet on the bug front lately, and I guess I got complacent because I was not prepared at all for last night. But I watched him spray the baseboards and put some gel on the lip of the backsplash above the sink where I can't reach, and hopefully that will take care of the problem. There's no food out and the sink is dry after 8 pm, and I wish they would just go away. It's so upsetting.
I also got the laundry done, and I'll fold it tonight while watching the Mets. Yesterday, I caught up on Brooklyn Nine Nine
, which was a good choice, because it made me laugh a lot, and then last night's episode made me laugh even more. Everything with Holt was COMEDY GOLD. And Mark Evan Jackson looks amazingly attractive with that beard.
In other news, did you know that jelly shoes are in fashion again? I would like a pair of gold sparkly ones, but I doubt at this point I could wear them comfortably. I lived in them in the early 80s though. And those awful Dr. Scholl's sandals - you know the ones! - before graduating to Candie's.
Anyway, here is today's poem:All Objects Reveal Something About the Body
by Catie Rosemurgy
Crisp is to the apple what
flexed is to the body.
Being bitten is to the crisp apple
what walking is to the ripe body, but it's more complicated than that:
the apple of the face has been given
to the running juice of the body
and the body, which is often gracious,
makes it shine.
Having a core is to the apple
what having a core is to the body, city, method, circumstance, endeavor.
Having a core is flower-shaped and hurts
in the way that having a shape hurts, which is to say
it hurts ironically, because to have limits
is not just to make a declaration upon a mountainside,
it is also to be the mountainside. Having a flowering core
also hurts in the way that being flower-like always hurts,
which is to say sexually, as if the whole self
has exceeded the skin, which it hasn't, which means
we always seem to be opening but never ever do.
Both these types of suffering color the air
when we pause to have them. The affected atoms
are hard to see amongst the billions
of sofa atoms, newsprint atoms
but, like the illnesses in the crystalline sea, they are there.
Red apple sliced, quartered, salted. Green apple,
alone in the basket.
Anything left on the shelf becomes weak,
suggestible, vulnerable to other shapes, hungry to be refilled
by something other than itself,
a poison apple.
The joining we do with others needs containing.
Imagine the mess. Imagine a finger touching the sack of the heart.
Imagine being stopped, controlled that powerfully.
Imagine nothing like that being possible. Nothing ever stopping you
at the root of the breath. Huge apple.
The world in reference to you. How you move. Time a backdrop.
Or close the other eye: you in reference to the world.
How it varies and happens simultaneously.