Room Without View
<<2006-06-11 - 12:23 a.m.>> All I do is sit around. Today it was sunny and I had dinner with Kate. Beer. Ice cream, sitting in the sunset, watching children clamber and prattle. I have left Nabokov in limbo and returned to Forster, his comforting Victorianism. On my balcony, we talk contemporary fiction, and over and over I say, I don't know it. I don't know it. I have never read any Dave Eggers or David Sedaris, I have not read The Corrections or Everything is Illuminated. It is like I have dropped out of contemporary life, retreated. Forster heroines go on Grand Tours of the Continent, they tend towards a bright flinty honesty. They do not like to lie.
They do not send résumés. They make their lives in other ways.
There are pictures of the blank walls of my new apartment, taupe as far as the eye can see. It looks out on an airshaft. It has a gleaming gas stove. Ken and I discuss furniture on the phone. Today I signed the lease and sent it overnight. Overnight means that it will arrive Tuesday. I think E.M. Forster heroines never had to have things notarized.<< - >> |