my birthday is soon:  Does anyone need to know where to send presents?

So I'm sitting here hoping my temp agency will call me and tell me they have something for me.  I just called to say i was ready and the lady cut me off and said alright alright and hung up.  I think it's possible that they don't like me because my ex-boyfriend worked for them and knew them and he brought me to them and they loved me more because they love him, than because i'm fucking awesome.  Then we broke up and I think they're not on my team.  I want to cry a little bit.  I'm doing a detox month, decided after a debacle two nights ago.  NO smoking, No drinking, No nothing else.  It's gonna be awesome.  I've already stopped being able to focus my eyes.

hello.

my name is tara.

i am a fuckwad.

Currently Reading The Rainbow (Modern Library Classics) By D.H. Lawrence see related

Today has been a fine day so far.  Still nothing to do at work.  I did some reading on the extremely slow trains.  I am reading a book that I fell out of love with a long time ago, but which I must finish because it is on my orals list.  It is the book to which Women in Love, is the sequel.  It's basically about 3 generations of this English family, primarily the eldest daughter in the 3rd generation, Ursula, and how she's proud.  The book is called The Rainbow.  I think it's the biblical rainbow, the convenant never again to flood the world.  That gets mentioned sometimes, but i don't know what it has to do with anything. Hopefully the last paragraph will clear it all up.  Honestly I think the book is just bad, but I'm suspicious that that means I'm stupid.  Plus I've spent such a long time reading it, I can't make sense of it as a whole anymore.  Sometimes I like D.H. Lawrence though, I love when he says ridiculous things.  Let's see if I can find something like that:

"She had the child, the palpable and immediate future was the child.  If her soul had found no utterance, her womb had."

ha ha ha--talking wombs---very Lawrentian

"She could neither wake nor sleep. As if crushed between the past and the future, like a flower that comes above-ground to find a great stone lying above it, she was helpless."

heh heh---equally lawrentian is the image of a vagina with a rock over it.  Like Jesus' tomb, if the tomb was not a hole but a stillborn flower.  Every metaphor contains an internal battle, but no matter who wins, mama cries.   

He's such a dick.  It's amazing.  And sometimes he's really smart about things. But in this book I think he's taking on too much.  Or the question is so lofty that i can't bring myself to care about it.  I think though that this is the book that comes back to haunt him in The Plumed Serpent--I guess that's productive.

I wish I could think of something amusing to discuss, and I guess I can, but I don't feel like getting into it right now, maybe later. 

Back again, in an effort to reconstruct a sense of self.  I feel like this process of narrating might regenerate my own interest in myself as a character in a story.  Lately I have felt more like a bounce house for discreet, anti-absorptive stimuli.  I just spent my lunch break, i.e. cigarette break, fantasizing about becoming a high school guidance counselor. Clearly something has to change.  I have not had an idea in months.  I am not seeing the world in generalities or systems.  For this reason both theory and poetry have become impossible. The problem I suppose is that I have nothing to say.  I am not interested in myself and the things I do have to report are things that I already understand or don't need to understand. I have been talking to a new boy after breaking up with my boyfriend of two years, which I'm not that traumatized by.  I found a way to make some money for the rest of the summer so things are feeling more squared away than they were for a while.  I have not yet written an orals list--it is two months late roughly.  I have not finished a book this summer.  I think I might have throat cancer, but I always think things like that.  I'm boring myself.  Which is not what was supposed to happen. 

In other news: Some guy was attacking people with a chainsaw, strike that: two chainsaws, at my subway stop last night.  You'd think the universe would distribute energy and excitment more productively if it really wanted to sustain itself. 

I am entropy, bitch.