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1:00 p.m. : 2002-07-30 : Oh, Ms. MaGoo, You've Done it Again

I�ll tell you what there is a cure for: Puffy eyes. Two post-steeped teabags will do the trick (let �em cool first, kids� let �em cool). Helps especially well after a night of crying over the apocalyptic threat of imminent mortality. There�s just something about seeing people you love out at a bar after seeing people you could give or take out at another bar that makes my �guts go gooey� as the eat-me-beat-me lady would say. When someone�s said something nasty about me it makes me want to run like a squealing piglet (greased, of course) into the arms of my Tried and True Loved Ones.

Don�t read this paragraph if you�re thoroughly irritated with dream posting:

I feel much better today. But I do think I need to change my lifestyle. Keep in mind the other dream I had where someone said, �Treat yourself like a new pet.� I dreamt the other night that a pack of perfect, purebred Doberman Pinschers was after my cats with rabid zeal. This I watched from my old bedroom in my parents� house, as the doggisses ran up onto the deck below, up to the sliding glass doors to the kitchen. Outside the doors, a gorgeous Golden Retriever was harboring the horrified cats (�how dare!� they thought), four of them (Tigger, Amelia, Dmitri and Hercules), under her long fur. I ran down there unsure what to do. If I let the cats in the dogs would get in too. There�s a chance I could have gotten the cats inside but the Golden would have been left for the pack of Dobermans. In film, as you probably know (and I think in my dreams), architecture is usually representative of the character�s brain. Like the dusty, creepy mansion on the precipice in Psycho for Norman Bates, of course the Royal Tenenbaums�s cluttered house is for all of them, a room for each (no sooner is Royal back in the picture than the boar�s head appears), and so forth�so my childhood house in the dream is my head�all of the things I learned there, etc. I�ve let things up to the door that very well may destroy things I love and value. And my watchdog is going to take a beating for it. I suppose I just need to find a balance again. I�ve been going out entirely too much. And I find myself holding my breath in some futile attempt to stop time. It reminds me of how my mom used to clench her fist under the dinner table. But look how pretty:

That�s Mom (in the middle front row) as the May Queen in upstate New York in the fifties. Although when I dream about her, she looks more like this (except usually not with the unidentified boy head):

I guess since it�s been two and a half years since she died I�m over the initial shock of grieving, and now can go back (oh yay!) and be more analytical about it, or rather, let in the �what does this mean about life� aspects of death that don�t come through when you�re just trying to get through all of the emotions, honoring them as much as possible. So what scratches at my soul now is the aforementioned fright of imminent mortality, the thought of losing more people I love, and how to live comfortably with that. I think I�m doing a pretty good job. I trust my dreamlife and subconscious.

End of self-indulgent bit and start of a new self-indulgent bit (The State bids farewell to the last sketch and turns to greet the new sketch with open arms!):

Well, maybe not terribly S.I. Thank you so much to my lovely friend Stephanie for all of the goodies I received yesterday! Two Jeff Buckley bootlegs, a comic dictionary, Jessica Abel�s first issue of La Perdida, another comic, and some excellent vintage postcards (one of which, strangely enough�the Oral Roberts� Million Soul Crusade postcard�was sent to me maybe nine years ago by Andy Sturmer, of my then favorite band Jellyfish, after I sent him an adoring ~and equally dorky~ fan letter. I even quoted one of their songs in it. Jeezuzzz help her soul indeed). If I�m forgetting anything I deeply apologize�I left it in my car yesterday before my thesis meeting; Brent drove The Duke home and we met up later and didn�t get home until about 1:45 and I have yet to go down to Extract the Goods.

I can hear my mom saying, right now, �Oh, Jennifer, that�s TERRible�:

Something funny from/typical of my dear friend Jes, who, incidentally, went to this weird model search thing last year, upon which he called himself, complete with French accent, �J�. J� Faaajeeenay.� When the woman called him to do his little thang on the runway, she called him �Juh.�

Word of the Day for Tuesday July 30, 2002:

quorum KWOR-uhm, noun:

1. Such a number of the officers or members of any body as is legally competent to transact business.

2. A select group.

The extraordinary powers of the Senate were vested in twenty-six men, fourteen of whom would constitute a quorum, of which eight would make up a majority. --Akhil Reed Amar, [1]The Bill of Rights: Creation and Reconstruction

What other quorum in American history, save those who wrote our constitution, could claim as much impact on our day-to-day lives? --Gavin de Becker, [2]The Gift of Fear

Quorum comes from the Latin quorum, "of whom," from qui, "who." The term arose from the wording of the commission once issued to justices of the peace in England, by which commission it was directed that no business of certain kinds should be done without the presence of one or more specially designated justices.

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