as it does now, I return to this book. Which I love.Last night, after a lovely dinner full of bellyaching laughter with friends, good food and wine, I returned home googly-brained and happy, and woke up in the middle of the night fearful of my own good fortune. I couldn't go back to sleep, I felt so anxious. And my dinner was like sitting like a hockey puck at the bottom of my stomach. There must be a German word or term for this feeling - both the (indigestion) hockey-puck-in-stomach as well as the (emotional) hockey-puck-in-stomach experience. I haven't found it yet but I'm sure it exists.
Also, I've been too social lately. I have been flitting about on dinners, picnics, movie dates, parties. It's been lovely but any time I am spending too much time with others and not enough time by myself, I fear my internal life is on the verge of atrophying and dying. Also, I start thinking of British colonial trophy wives who wore big hats with feathers and held garden parties with maharanis and talked about nonsense and sipped tea and ate pastries. Is it strange that my brain associates being overly social to colonial rule? And not the actual rule itself, but the fruitless activities of the bejeweled and entitled elite who flashed around their ill-gotten, ill-spent and ultimately meaningless good fortune? I think a lot of Silverlake hipsters are the current-day version of this.
I think secretly (or maybe not so secretly) I fear being someone who takes up too much Earth-space and does nothing meaningful, really. There must be a French word or term for this too.
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