Acting like a tree and shit

When your month starts out with a car accident and the need for a new car, it is a welcome surprise to have not much else happen. Whenever I think about writing these end of month posts, I consult my trusty Moleskine to remind myself of what I did, who I met and what I want to remember when I look back at this blog. Usually what I find are my incoherent jottings of hours I had to work, one word notes about plans I had and friends and family member's names that are meant to remind me that I am supposed to do something involving that person and occasionally I'll circle the date at the end of the night because something happened that day that I really want to remember. Every other page has my "budget" written on it with tons of scratching out/corrections/messy notes by random numbers. I usually have to dig through the notebook and sit for a good twenty minutes, deciphering the hieroglyphics it took a month to create. At the end of my life it would tickle me to think about someone compiling a collage, an anthology of Allison's Ephemera. And then just as quickly I remember that no one cares about other people's crap, even after they are gone. Plus, since I plan on living until I'm 98, that's a shit load of Moleskine to go through.

Here is the (paltry) list of films I watched this month:

Jezebel (1938)
Warm Bodies (2013)
L.A. Story (1991)
In the House (2013)
Before Sunrise (1995)
Before Sunset (2004)
The Company You Keep (2013)
Something About Sex (1998)
Written on the Wind (1956)
The Man With Two Brains (1983)
The Beautiful Person (2008)
Cloud Atlas (2013)
A Burning Hot Summer (2011)
The Tender Trap (1954)

Pathetically short compared to earlier this year but I'm a busy ass bitch. Bizarre and totally unintentional coincidence that two on this short list came from the mid century, an era in film that I am not really schooled in (as if I am in other eras.). And the two representatives here, one intensely sexist (of its time and all that, I'm aware) and one intensely melodramatic (Douglas Sirk, naturally) are not enticing me to investigate the year further. I could be convinced otherwise I suppose but I'm already strapped for time when it comes to movie watching. I have toyed in the past with the idea of watching movies by year but then I realized that while some of those years would be one incredible film after another (1939) others would be downright painful (1987?). Also, it would be even more time consuming than my current method of choosing films to watch: completely random.

I managed to get to the pool twice so far this month. I did yoga outdoors for the first time ever. It was great to be outside but the bugs glommed on to me with intent and there was a moment when I saw a caterpillar crawl onto the mat in front of me. As much as I liked lying down and feeling the soft grass beneath me (and I was able to balance on my head somewhat), the bugs were everywhere. I also felt guilty because in reality, that is their world and I was really just a pretender, acting like a tree and shit. RIP to the bugs that died that morning.

Lastly, I did quite a bit of reading this month, reminding myself of how badly I need someone to change the nature of time and space, thereby allowing me to do everything I want and need to do in the remaining 60 years I have left on earth. I don't know what it is about reading in particular, but I usually feel such a sense of urgency to finish what's in front me and to move on to the next thing. If I didn't have to deal with the peskiness of having to work and the nuisance of consuming other forms of art and culture it wouldn't be unthinkable to spend my life reading one book after another, getting up only to pee and eat something microwaveable.

Speaking of which, it is just about lunch time.