The Future Is Now
I don't really have anything to say today. Work is steady and demanding and there's always something to do after I punch out at five or six or nine p.m.--birthday parties and gym visits and band practices until bedtime. Last night I photographed a book event at my office while Simon was fifty miles away sitting on a panel for his job, and tonight we'll miss our weekly Twin Peaks Exercise in Donut-Craving with Teddy because we have to gather all our laundry and cram it into the car for our trip to Simon's mom's tomorrow because we're, like, nineteen years old and home from college and short of quarters for the dryers.
Speaking of being nineteen again, right now I'm reading (on Simon's recommendation) a book called Replay. It was published in 1987, and the cover copy describes it as "Exciting as Back to the Future, Romantic as Peggy Sue Got Married." I have yet to see a car lay down tracks of flame, but I'm only eighty pages in, so there's still a chance.
It's a kind of time-travelly book in which our protagonist, Jeff, suddenly finds his middle-aged brain back in his teenage body and is basically at leisure to chart the course of his life knowing then what he knows now. Except that "now" is 1987, which leads to all sorts of unintentional and delightful double anachronisms now that 1987 is ancient history. Example: Jeff bets a small fortune on the 1963 Kentucky Derby, and when he wins, he reaches down to figure his earnings on his Casio calculator watch. He chuckles to himself when he realizes that he's no longer living in an era where every guy has a calculator watch, and this, of course, reaches a deeper level of funny for me, a reader in 2006, when the last calculator watch I saw was on the arm of my six-year-old brother. In 1987.
There a whole lot more to think about there, from My! How Technology Has Changed Our Modern World to all that profound how-would-you-live-your-life-differently-if-you-had-it-to-do-over and would-you-erase-me? Eternal Sunshine crap, wherein "crap" is code for "stuff I totally dig and can discuss ad nauseum."
But I'm going to save that discussion for another day. A day when I'm not suffering from a condition in which every time I take a bite of food, my stomach bloats to Ethiopian proportions and a crowd of big-hair celebrities gathers on my front lawn to sing "We Are the World" in support. But I'm not starving. And I'm not gassy either. I'm just...puffy. Sean Combs without the bling.
So I've decided that the best course of action from this point forward is to just stop eating. I've actually been thinking about this for several years now because whereas I love the taste and texture of food in my mouth, I'm not a fan of the whole swallowing and digesting part and could quite frankly give it up with nary a whimper. I just hope the retrofuturists at the Jetsons research headquarters are wrong about our destiny to eat meals in pill form; I'm all about fast food and robot maids, but there's nothing quite like tonguing that bit of chocolate cake and frosting that got caught in your right top molar.
I wish that my posts were as charming and flowy when I have nothing of note to say. I heart you.
Don't you hate it when you have nothing to say, but it take you four paragraphs to say that?!
Like, oh my god! Recently, I too have been thinking about "My how technology has changed our modern world" blah blah blah.
And I've especially been wondering how my romantic life (which, though currently non-existent, was at one point based on long distance semi-relationships via email/chat/telephone) would be different now without technology.
I mean, would I have saved myself a lot of heartache or created more if I didn't have an easy means to keep in touch with the boys I adored?
But I'd much rather hear what you have to say on this. :)
You know 1987 was a different world when calculator watches were actually cool (yes, I had a black Casio model). Must have been the James Bondness of a watch that did more than just tell time.
On a serious note, my wife has bouts of the same symptoms (even when she's not pregnant). After colonoscopies and other unpleasant probing, she was diagnosed with IBS. The good thing is it doesn't have to rule your life or make you wistful for dry pieces of bread.
Could I go back to 1979 instead?
Heck, if I could just go back to nasdaq 5000 and sell I'd be retired right now.
"The Moving finger writes; and having writ, Moves on: not all thy Piety nor Wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it."
-Lord Edward Fitzgerald
A puffy tummy? No fun. Hope you can find out what's the cause of that and get some help so you can enjoy all aspects of eating again.
Don't give up food - you need to nourish that future baby :)
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