Notes from the Road
Parth Three: Chicago
Chicago in winter is cold. Like, freeze your cheeks off, burning fingertips cold. I’m told I should visit The Art Institute, but honestly? I’ll plan a trip back here in the spring when it’s not brutal. There’s a woman who sits on the corner of Randolph and Wells with a sign that says she’s 65 and homeless. I’ve been half tempted to bring her back to my hotel room. I don’t know how anyone could survive on the streets here.
Ryan came to visit the first week of our stay here, so I haven’t really been outside much at all. I think I converted them to The Church of Sleep. They were fairly neutral on the concept of Sleep, but after spending a week in my temple, they’re a believer. I don’t claim to be the founder of The Church of Sleep. I know there are billions who have seen the light (and then turned it off). But I’d say, at this point, I’m like a High Priest.
Here’s a quandary: If everyone in your dreams is you, then what does it mean when you have a dream about a friend you haven’t seen in person in years AND you cast him as someone else?
Speaking of which, I just suddenly remembered that I dreamt Cherry Jones was on General Hospital?
We had our first weekday matinee yesterday and let me you, the scissoring joke landed flat as a pancake. Not even crickets for that one.
I’m not implying that older people don’t know what the concept of scissoring is. I’m not so naïve that I don’t know old people used to fuck all over the place, too. I’m just saying they probably call it something else. Grandma Lorraine is like, “Back when I was at Bryn Mawr, my best friend, Suzanne and I used to get naked ‘basket weave’ each other like crazy!” And you’re like, “Grandma… Please go on.”
This is what happens to me when I get cabin fever, folks.
Ryan bought me a little two-quart crockpot for the stops on the tour when I don’t have a kitchen. Last night I tried the Tex-Mex chicken and rice I made, and I put so much hot sauce on it I ended up running around my room like Yosemite Sam looking for a bucket of water to douse my tongue in. It turned out I didn’t have a spare bucket of water, so I used a spoonful of peanut butter, a banana, mouth wash, and half a bottle of wine. Ryan thinks I should write a tiny crockpot cookbook…
I’m almost done reading Parable of the Sower. It’s super terrific and I highly recommend it. And just for clarity’s sake, “sower” rhymes with “lower” not “sour.” I was going around calling it Parable of the SOUR like an asshole until Ryan referred to it properly and then I was like, “Oh. Right. That makes…a lot more sense.” Sower (rhymes with lower) is an actual word.
It’s not that I’m dumb, guys. I just have a lot in my brain and I have to prioritize. For example, I went to my website host thingy to see about posting this blog and remembered that I hadn’t paid for the hosting renewal despite many reminder emails, so now apparently, as of this writing, I don’t have a website anymore. That’s one thing that was (not) in my brain. I have to buy winter boots because apparently being miserable on the walk to and from work and thinking, “I can get away with not buying new boots. I only have to make it through Minneapolis, Boston, Schenectady, Cleveland, and Des Moines,” isn’t really working out for me. One of my students booked a Disney Channel show with some insane contract and I’m super happy for her, but I had a horrible day dream this morning about having to rescue her from a trailer when she’s in her early 20s because Disney chewed her up and spit her out and destroyed her life. Also, all the podcasts I listen to about people murdering and cannibalizing others takes up a lot of my focus. Plus, there’s all the time I spend thinking about food. And then there’s all the praying* I do. *sleeping.
The point is, I have a lot going on.
I’m going back to church now.