June 18, 2006 Sunday
It is Sunday. Have a brunch with me, somewhere between our distant two points, in a small cafe in Paris. If only for a moment.
I feel better today. This might be the best news I can type that can be condensed into four words. My moodiness has passed, even for being enlongated. What can one expect when work and home are one in the same? We are still relatively busy, mostly at night, so that I sleep at odd times thourghout the day. I’ve been reading a great deal recently, to keep my lack mind active mostly likely. Since leaving the Carnay Islands a week ago I have spent my watch time buried in books, burning through The Curious Indicent of the Dog in the Night-Time, No god but God, and The Society of Others.
Of the three Society was my favorite, taking only a day; it was so creepy, something like the movie Hostel. I am now on page 31 of The Red Tent. I had promised to promise myself that I would save it, and read it once in the far future of August, when ideas could be better, more reliably shared with you Marely (It is such a modern story, in its way, and I can easily see why Jacob finally decides on Leah. I would too).
Your writings are always the best part of the day. They make me laugh, and think, and allow me to better laugh and think when I leve this computer, to go swaying down a metal passageway of war.
Last night Cliff, Musgrove and I were on watch together, in the dark of sonar, and we talked for a long time about what people we knew back home must be doing. We told hours of girlfriend stories, commented on how bad Jane Austin can be, if not viewed the correct light, and shared a tongue-in-cheek list of the bad-assedness of Chuck Norris. You see, you can talk about anything when there’s nothing to talk about.