My life is lived to a score. Well, many scores. (See Saturday night’s post HERE – SATURDAY NIGHT SONDHEIM –if you’ve any doubt, or, well, you know, care a whit?) Whether it was all my years of Broadway wanna-be/gonna-be-ism or a genetic predisposition that resulted in my translation of every moment of my life into musical theatre is a discussion for another time (and a therapist) but my point was — is — I wake up nearly every day of my life with a song in my head, sometimes, in fact, this morning, I am singing when I wake, and sometimes, in fact, this morning, the song I am singing does not exist in the real world. Today’s lyrics:
I told you YES. NO. Yes-terday. No-today. Yesterdays. Noterdays. Told-you-days.
It was sung to a catchy little tune, too. While I’ve a proclivity (or, wait, should I say predilection since choice is also involved? No, sticking with proclivity since the urge seems to be genetic, compelled by DNA, not that I’ve any urge to resist it) for ballads — eleven o’clock and sadness-tinged, please — this morning’s Charlie-specific-showtune was a patter song. Go figure – as opposed to go fugue-ure. (You know, cuz sad ballads – fuck it, never mind.)
I’m not sure why I woke in such perky mien as I am visiting a gastroenterologist today and he is sure to jump on the “You’re over 50 and need to have a colonoscopy in addition to some horrible, snaking down your throat intestinal-oscopy thing too” bandwagon, but, there it is.
Maybe I am excited because AFTER that appointment I head to my dear Judah, to dog and country estate watch for a few days. Sleeping with a dog by my side – in the good way.
Maybe, too, I am in finer fettle because I returned to the gym yesterday. It’s been more than a week since I’ve felt anywhere near strong enough to do so. I dreaded it, but once I was there, I stayed for three hours. Working slowly and blessedly undisturbed on floor, in shower and sauna, solitude of spirit — Sunday is a very slow day there. Alas — TMI WARNING, SKIP AWAY IF MY PERSONAL REVELATIONS UPSET YOU — despite my taking of great care not to strain myself after long gym-absence, I seem to have done something to activate a new phase in my groin-hernia-area – it seems to have, somehow, shifted (?) and now is causing some pain I’ve never had before. Well,bright side, today’s doctor will be down in that area anyway, right?
Before I digress any further and exceed my ZEIT-word count (not to mention, your patience), let me to the READS. I am about half through Ms. Deanna Raybourn’s A Curious Beginning: A Veronica Speedwell Mystery. This is the first in a new series and was blurbed by Rhys Bowen of Her Royal Spyness Series and Alan Bradley of the Flavia De Luce series. I love both of those series and am a huge Ms. Raybourn groupie from her Twitter feed and I am really enjoying this.
In addition to Ms. Raybourn’s work, I’m packing my latest bite at a time, make it last, write inside it, re-read and love to an obsessive degree tome: Meanwhile There Are Letters: The Correspondence of Eudora Welty and Ross Macdonald. I want a correspondence like theirs, and while I’ve some very literate pals, not sure I could hold up my end.
And, too, the TBR collection for my few days – I won’t get to all of them but I like having a selection from which to choose – so, without comment (right now, anyway, this is a ZeitBites entry) –
What are you reading, dear one?