Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Done In Sixty Seconds

This morning I was listening to The White Stripes (yes, again; I'm in a happy music rut, and a happy coinciding food rut with toasted sandwiches and 62% cocoa chocolate - want a bigger waistline? Ask me how!), and while working through White Blood Cells, came across Little Room. It's a brilliant song, and it's only 49 seconds long. It made me think of all the great things you can do in under a minute; not rushing to get them done, but pleasurable or constructive things that just don't take long. Unfortunately I only came up with two (although all up, the thinking took less than a minute - yuss).

1. Listen to Little Room (aha!).
2. Text somebody back (this can also be destructive, but still pleasurable).
3. Check your breasts or balls for lumps (Vincent's suggestion, and a very good one; I think it's supposed to take longer but he's very efficient; he actually found one in one of mine which I now need to have removed).

Clearly, there isn't a lot I can do in under a minute, but I am a fairly slow mover. Something that is currently taking me a very long time is reading Wuthering Heights. I began it about a month ago, was immediately taken with it, then lost interest, lost the actual book, and then freaked out about being way off track for achieving my goal of reading fifty books this year that I haven't read before, and read a different book and then began another. However, I'm back on Wuthering Heights (saving In Cold Blood to finish in the weekend when I can read more at once so I don't break the atmosphere - Capote is quite a writer; like quite a fucking good one), and again (thankfully), I'm taken. I love Jane Austen as much as the rest of the sisterhood (did you shudder? Yuss again!), but Emily Bronte's depiction of love as an all-consuming, selfish and even destructive thing is so original and unexpected, and, for me, so real. Catherine is hateful, Heathcliff is brutal and cruel, but I know how and why they each love the other, and while their characters are unappealing, their passion redeems them to me. I know the way I love can be destructive; sometimes it even hurts me. It can be selfish, and I end up hurting the object of my affection because I throw myself into every part of how I feel about them, including the parts that don't feel good, like jealousy, and I'm not sure it's something I could ever grow out of, or learn out of, or be hurt out of like Marianne Dashwood. I'd like to know what other people think of the book. I've just been talking to one of my best friends tonight, and told her about some of my romantic neuroses and reactions, and just saying them aloud made me sound like a crazy person. But there must be other people like me; not just complete nutters like Cathy. Or are there not? Am I in a small boat with Cathy, and characters played by Glenn Close or Kathy Bates? Vincent, watch your children's rabbit...

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