One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious
dreams, he discovered that in his bed he had been changed into a monstrous
verminous bug. He lay on his armour-hard back and saw, as he lifted his head up
a little, his brown, arched abdomen divided up into rigid bow-like sections.
From this height the blanket, just about ready to slide off completely, could
hardly stay in place. His numerous legs, pitifully thin in comparison to the
rest of his circumference, flickered helplessly before his eyes.
Today I attended my first school play as a mother. Max was outstanding. It didn't occur to me to put up this picture of it captioned with the first lines of Kafka's Metamorphosis until long after I had done it. Me and David and Paul had a nice reading outside in Bryant Park last night. Their poems were great as always, they both write poems that are serious when you read them but when they read them the poems are also hilarious. It was fun and so nice to see all the friends who showed up, really sweet. The only problem is that I had therapy just before the reading and afterwards we went out for dinner and drank martinis and now I kind of can't be sure what I said to my therapist and what I said to the dinner table and am feeling ambiently abashed. Well I suppose martinis always leave me ambiently abashed. It looks like I will have a poem in the next New Yorker.
So, everything is great except I am a monstrous verminous bug. Everybody stay alive and we'll meet back here next week.
Jennifer