morning sickness

It may be too early in the day for heavy drinking, but something needed to be done. I can't seem to make myself start even though I have a pile of plays to read and another few tomes of poetry, Latin American Romanticism and the transition to Modernismo.

I refuse to feel bad about adding vodka to my morning juice. Well actually, the funny thing is that I never drink juice, except when combined with alcohol, so when I reached for the cranberry juice, there was something of a pavlovian bell that triggered my reaching for the freezer as well.

So work. I must do it. I also must do my taxes. Today. Even though I officially have until Monday because the 15th falls on the weekend. First a play. Or two. Then taxes. Then another play or two. Then. What? I already cleaned the kitchen, picked up I.'s forgotten back pack and glossed through a history of Spanish literature, just to see that I still have review material waiting for the last weeks, I left a recipe suggestion on a friend's blog, and pulled chicken out of the freezer for supper. I have whole mushrooms and a bottle of cheap red wine that I opened the other night to make Charoset for the seder. I think I will make coq au vin. While trying to observe the food prohibitions. Don't ask me why. (Vodka is kosher, in my book). It isn't about any real belief in a system, or anything remotely spiritual (I wish it were, but I have been permanently ruined by my hyper-critical view of the world), perhaps a vague connection to "culture" whatever that is. Part of it, I suppose, is wanting to share something with my daughter that I have fond memories of as a child. Mostly it is that, I think, but then why did I walk all the way across campus for a salad so that I could pick the ingredients that I wanted yesterday? There it gets more complex. I think I like control, and I like setting goals for myself that I can acheive, while causing myself mild discomfort. Yes, perhaps it is that. I prohibit myself from something I want, or need, or think I need and I force myself to stick with the program. Perhaps it is just a "why not?" sort of a thing. I don't know, I don't claim to know the inner workings of my (albeit partially deformed) psyche. But needless to say, I need to focus on something concrete, and food is as concrete as it gets.

It is still morning and I am still procrastinating, and I just wrote a story about when K. and I were travelling in Oaxaca and I was pregnant and very sick, and we ran into J. at Monte Alban, but I want to figure out the scanner in my house and see if I can upload the pictures, and I really don't think I need to be wasting my time on that, but I want to. And this afternoon there is an opening, a friends MFA thesis exhibit. Perhaps I will go, but only if, only if, only if, I read at least 4 books before that. Yes. I will there it is, a dangling carrot.

Ok. Back to work.