My beloved husband is in India on business, my parents are visiting (thank goodness for their help), the kids are crazy, and I am existing moment to moment. I am certainly to blame in large part for my exhaustion as I stay up extremely late watching DVDs (I am currently mesmerized by the BBC program "MI-5" and instead of watching one episode, end up watching 2 or 3 at a time). I should be studying Microbiology, but I am powerless against the siren call of the screen.
The last few days have been particularly rough on my eldest son, who has a cold and a particularly nasty stomach bug. Sparing the disgusting details, I can say that there has been much cleaning up to do, and much trauma associated with his bed. I was worried that he would refuse to sleep there ever again, but he's tucked in and out for the count, at least for now.
I have also been enjoying the stellar company of one of my oldest friends, who is visiting from Brussels with his partner. I realized today that I have known my friend for 29 years, which is almost unbelievable. We went out tonight for dinner, along with my parents (who have of course also known my friend forever), and it was fun to remember silly things we did at the ages of 8, 9, 10, and 11. I completely adore my friend's partner, who has been a softening influence on him, without doubt. It's wonderfully fun to be silly and to tease my friend (who can be a delightful stick-in-the-mud, but a stick-in-the-mud, nonetheless). We have decided that the next time I need to visit my in-laws in Germany, I will help my beloved get the kids to Oma's house, and then take the next train to Belgium.
What else has my addled brain been up to? I am reading an article in the New Yorker on Charles Darwin, written by Adam Gopnik. I completely abhor Gopnik's tone and mode of thinking, and have been very unimpressed over the years by his supposed skill in art history (I am most disdainful of his biases against certain artists, failure to look closely at works of art). I am also underwhelmed by his ardent Francophilia, shared as it is by too many wannabe French art historians. Before beginning his articles, I bet myself about the number of paragraphs it will be before he manages to share a pearl of wisdom about France or French culture, no matter what the subject. So it is with great surprise and not a little grudging respect, that I have to admit that I am thinking often and positively about what I've learned about Darwin. I particularly enjoyed the comparison of Darwin and Trollope and Eliot; it makes complete sense, and I am intrigued.
I have also been driven to buy Trollope's "The Way We Live Now" following my marathon DVD session of last week, which was spurred on of course by Matthew Macfadyen's gorgeousness and sublime acting skills. Now it sits on my bedside table, where I reckon it will remain, unopened, until the end of the semester. But at least beginning the book can be an admirable goal; maybe I'll even finish it before 10 years go by. I won't hold my breath. Somehow I never have enough time to dedicate to such elevated pursuits as reading things longer than 10 pages.
Before I go to bed, I am thinking about my beloved, and hoping that he's doing all right as he deals with horrible jet lag and culture shock. I miss him and wish I could be there with him in Pune. I wonder if he'll run into Brad and Angelina? Not that he'd even recognize them.
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