Sagittarius 4° (November 26)
Either yesterday or today is Henry’s birthday—to be honest I always forget which. Pascale’s is October 26 so I can come up with a mnemonic device, once and for all, for getting that particular bit of shit together. Okay I have writing to do. Anyway today is Hen’s B’day so it is the same number as P only a day later which is good to know. Last night was a bit of a blow out. I had a pretty psychic-y time with a client and am pretty much “caught up” if there is such a thing. We are having a bit of wine for the holiday and then resuming our teetotalling until Christmas, which is good for brain clarity, right now when I need it most. There is no more wiggle room really and that is as it should be. I’ll have a bit of blueberries then spend the day making dinner: homemade cranberry sauce, quinoa that is meant to taste like the stuffing of yore, sweet potatoes, rutabaga, roasted potatoes, green beens with shallot and toasted almonds and a chicken, no turkey, as it’s too big and neither of us really like it. I watched a bit of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang out of nostalgia. Sally Ann Howes is an underated and underappreciated talent. She was just thirteen when she began movies and I think she was only seventeen when she did Anna Karenina (or was it Mme Bovary?) I forget. Was chatting on FB with that guy Kyle who takes all the crazy pictures and putting finishing touches on dinner. S. and I were talking about how you work all day on a meal like this then sit down and basically it’s done within minutes. I think we both might be feeling more lonely than usual at this juncture. We watched Room with a View for the four hundredth time. I actually surprised myself that I knew the dialogue by heart. Anyway, I will have to get right back to it tomorrow which is actually fine. I want to at least draft an introduction which I should be able to do pretty easily. The trick with it is to pretend I’m explaining it to somebody else.
The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of Blagues, nos. 1196-1200 I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.
It’s weird waking up in a hotel in the airport, especially in Vancouver, where you are basically at check in. I went to the pool but it was a drag due to father and little daughter taking up a lot of space. Never mind. Sauna would have taken too long to get hot. I got dressed and we grabbed coffees fro Starbucks, heard of it?; then finished up and headed out; I hate a smoked salmon sandwich from that chic plane, yesterday.
We were able to fly through inspection and plop into the lounge where lunch was just setting up. I started with soup because these places always put the soup out first. Thai Chicken. And they do the bar last. Bloody Mary’s have been spoiled for me since the boat, but….Check in was a breeze. I had the beef. I watched the Shape of Water? We arrived in Toronto and it was a bit rocky, both coming and going. It killed the mood. That and the Canada Air lady who looked like the character Stevie on Schitt’s Creek which is a Canadian show. Oh I give up. She was a crueller de ville. We cleared customs and it was off to Boston. Pretty quick through baggage and finding driver.
It isn’t a so happy a thing when you get home but it’s not your home, it can be an uncomfortable limbo. Am I making excuses. No. So what I was cranky. Sue me. I’m already thinking about the press release which I hope to have complete by, say, next Thursday. It’s a guilt thing on some level. I will drive S. to NH tomorrow and somehow it might be fun.
A frosty morning of eighty some odd degrees. But we get a smooth start, heading up 95 to veer off, just before Portsmouth to head to what is referred to as camp, sort of. N. has rented the house on the site of what was her and S.’s aunt’s lakeside property. Their aunt is no longer with us; in fact neither is her original house; because not long after she died lightning struck it and it burned to a crisp. Her sons had a new house built and then sold it and that is the house S.’s family has rented. It is ideally situated on Great East Lake, to be sure, but, when I go there, I was so glad I had already arranged not to stay. It was small and stuffy with plaid and leather and I get a panic attack just typing about it let alone living in it with one, two, three, four, five, six, and one eight-year old, inlaws. I, who got not much done on the boat, need to head back to Reading to tackle some things.
I drove back down listening to Yacht Rock and upon hearing Cool Change by the Little River Band I knew the songwriter was a Cancer with his looking “at the full moon like a lover.” I stopped in Lynnefield at Whole Foods and got provisions. At this point I’m feeling exhaustion but soldier through. I get some wine. I stop in town for a CVS run and make it back to the house, feeling a bit like entering the batcave, given the garage scenario. Anyway, I’m not a suburban fellow in case you cannot tell. The guacamole I thought I bought turned out to be tomatillo something (with a little avocado but it’s not the same).
I caught up with Brad, West of the Rockies. He said he’d be dressed a certain way and then someone else was dressed exactly the same, walking in front of him, with white sox in sandals. The recognition came slowly. And to this day my instincts about this being some extra are correct, though I can never fully remember the exact why; all I know is that the dream never lasts long.
I never want to have a colostomy, needless to say. And I never want to be odorous on purpose. Sometimes a dinner of chips and tomatillo dip is enough if not more. I keep turning the temperature down and I think it just automatically keeps going up, which turns out not to be the case; as B. is controlling it from his phone or something. Whatever.
I will begin on booking the artists travel and get some laundry done in the meantime.
After the strange synchronicity of yesterday, I am in an expansive mood. I am happy there is cold brew and I keep turning down the thermostat. This morning might be the last even luke-warm bath I’ll draw. I don’t need anything in particular and I’m getting into the solitude. What’s that Madonna song about San Pedro? That gets stuck in my head and other places and I’m on a jelly roll. And lo and behold here we go again. This reminds me of the Lance situation. Delibery. Really not since Ghana. These are the fragments in my head. And it’s impossible. There has never been anything even remotely like it; but somehow it always happens. I cannot explain how as it seems to defy every law of nature. And then briefly you find a way to make what shouldn’t be interesting and it’s kinda cool.
That was the threefold dream I remember of today.
Somewhere I am happy for Young Jean Lee and a lot of other people. But it is becoming not only increasingly clear but urgent that I must focus on my own creativity. Seriously. I’ll get to lie in the sun a little and I really should make some fresh pasta with sour cream and smoked salmon; I don’t see why I wouldn’t. And I don’t much see why I wouldn’t eat it for the next three meals, if I chose to. Tonight for me will end in some kind of heap watching tele. And it’ll be a somewhat slow realization that I have gained a ton of weight now, being away a solid three weeks. Oh well. I might be a bit over my head. But when has that ever truly stopped me. Besides I feel there is more fun to be had.
There was something about Thom Lussier. He had a brother who had a wife who had a sister. Anyway, there was a Pisces man and he of course looked like a combination of Matthew Broderick and Don Knotts, as they all do.
What dreams may come. I need to make the focus of these book intros and the outline for the new Xmas show more, respectively, a love letter and a survey of superpowers. That really is the answer.
I did eat more of the pasta, sour cream and smoked salmon and then went to the store, this time myself, to get what I needed. I’m working through the day and trying to scrape something together but the words won’t come.
I haven’t bathed in hot water and its hot in here and I’m just going to try and make some shit happen and I fall asleep. And I wake up and I’m starving but I am not cooking, so I look up local restaurants, find a place and call an Uber. It’s time to catch up on the David Sedaris book in any case. And three hours pass and I’m closing the joint having steadily drunk a bottle of red.
My dreams were about this apartment that was sort of nowhere, kind of like Reading, no color houses; and some dark skinned guy with a kind of newsy cap and it might have been about Jersey City and Edna, our housekeeper, whose son started Kool & The Gang.
Very fitfull sleep, in and out. I’ve now seen not all but the same parts of Murder on the Orient Express three times. I watch the show about the Browns, Hard Knocks. The weather is really good but you can tell it’s switching it’s all switching.
Being on the boat is not even anything I’m thinking about. This always happens. It switches so abruptly that it will take a week or so before I begin musing about the boat again. I really could use a hot bath. What’s with this place.
To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°, for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360 degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.
Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go! Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.