. . . that gin is supposedly bad for the eyesight. And something inside me died.

How is a girl supposed to choose between her two truest loves? She cannot, of course:

Sonnet XXV

That Love at length should find me out and bring

This fierce and trivial brow into the dust

Is, after all, I must confess, but just;

There is a subtle beauty in the thing,

A wry perfection; wherefore now let sing

All voices how into my heart was thrust,

Unwelcome as Death's own, Love's bitter crust,

All criers proclaim it, and all steeples ring.

This being done, there let the matter rest;

What more remains is neither here nor there.

That you requite me not is plain to see;

Myself your slave herein have I confessed.

Thus far, indeed, the world may mock at me,

But if I suffer, it is my own affair.

I weigh the matter out in my mind: my livelihood, or gin? Cannot one have both, with judicious applications of raw carrots and Bausch & Lomb vitamins?*

I decide that Edna St. Vincent Millay was not simply pathological, but clinical, and mentally prescribe her some antidepressants.

And yet I am not yet at ease. I come home, and see that my roommate has brought some cake back from an AA meeting. I cut myself a slice, and discover that the local bakery whose name adorns the box did not use Miracle Whip in the frosting. Oh, no.

But how can I be sure? I make sure. Two slices later, I sit down, open up my book, and make myself a classic Martini.

Very dry. With an olive.

There is a subtle beauty in the thing,
A wry perfection.

Within a week I expect to be in double-escrow: as a seller, and as a buyer.

* No. I do not take them. But only because (1) I can't afford them; (2) if my father caught me taking vitamins, he'd kill me, because he has decided that all supplements are a racket. [The dad and nuance are not the best of friends.] (3) My rather wistful desire to never lose my eyesight is related to my rather wistful desire to never lose my teeth, which is in turn related to my rather wistful urge never to die. If I were to be caught taking vitamins and killed by my dad, that would rather pervert the whole project, no?

Instead, I'm taking Braille classes, memorizing my favorite poems, and buying books on CD. I am not, after all, stupid.

I may learn sign language, just to hedge my bets.

* * Whaaaaaaaaat?

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:10 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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