Pain as metaphor

Thursday, either from some cleaning agent or from cooking, I got a pretty painful chemical or steam burn on the pads of my thumbs and index and middle fingers. It hurt something awful, much more than a typical burn, which feels better after 10 minutes of ice and a dab of goo. I tried aloe on one hand and neosporin on the other -- nothing like running experiments on one's own body -- which made my fingers throb and sting even worse, so I washed them off and just submerged them in a bowl of ice until I went to bed and, once in bed, dabbed a wet towel into the ice bowl periodically for a refresher. (In the dark I could hear the cats routing in the bowl -- meow! fresh water hole! -- and pushing ice cubes around. Too bad Theo's tongue didn't stick to one like an icicle.) Eli was worried but reassured me that I would probably feel much better the next day. You know what? I woke up Friday and it was as if it never happened! My thumbs were a little dried out, but that was it. And it really fucking hurt the night before.

I have decided that this was an exercise for labor. I have instructed Eli that his mantra for me is that it will all be better tomorrow.

Readings

I have read a few things lately, perhaps not as much as one might think since I used to do most of my reading on the el and I've been too busy to plop on the sofa and read these past few days. (My mom asked how I was enjoying being home all day. Home? I've been running around like a madman since I retired, busier than I ever was at work. I think this is the first day I haven't left the house yet. And I'm not leaving tonight, since they're spraying our area for mosquitoes. The public health department called with an automated message assuring us that the threat of West Nile Virus is real and this insecticide is perfectly safe, however, we ought to close our windows and bring pets and children's toys inside tonight. I am hermetically sealing the house, although it's probably too late for my baby to be genetically altered.)

• This month's Atlantic (the erstwhile Atlantic Monthly) is chock full of good articles. The extensive piece on Arafat is recommended reading, especially for the few lefties out there who still want to deny that he did more to fuck over the Palestinian people than the Israelis ever could. There is also a review of the new Rushdie novel, which is receiving praise from all quarters. (Sounds like he's finally recovered from mooning over his hot girlfriend and has returned to serious writing.) Looks like we'll be using some Amazon points to buy it in hardcover, since I doubt I can wait a year.
• The Confessions of Max Tivoli was highly blurbed by all sorts of hotshot writers and critics, but it didn't quite do it for me. It was a great premise and a quick read but it just didn't grab me.
• The Same Sea by Amos Oz was quite beautiful, more poetry than prose, its fragmentary nature creating an emotionally rich atmosphere rather than interfering with the story.
• Foolscap by Michael Malone was incredibly enjoyable and, if someone wants some summer reading, this is the novel. The academic in-fighting scenes were hilarious, the characters well drawn, and the Raleigh play subplot delicious. The love interest of the protagonist was a bit put on, which is the only flaw in a tremendously fun book.
• I just started Daniel Derronda this morning. The question is, will I finish it before the baby arrives? If, as my fairy Godmother predicts, the baby arrives on the 8th, that gives me a week to read 850 pages of that small Penguin Classics font. My Buffy Netflix start arriving tomorrow, so I better go buckle down and burry my nose in some George Elliot. But first, a few more household chores. I am turning into an unstoppable cleaning machine. Nesting, perhaps?

Who needs sleep?

Nope, I haven't been cyber silent because I've had the baby. I've just been a bit listless the past few days and not in the mood for much of anything. Yesterday, our neighbors had a little shindig which Eli went to for a few hours. I was going to go, but I simply had to scrub the bathrooms, vacuum up the cat hair in every nook and cranny and make cookie dough (not cookies, just dough). Typically, I am the social one, but I couldn't bring myself to venture out yesterday and shmooze with a bunch of strangers. I think I just didn't feel like being the pregnant person.

I have also been sleeping like complete crap. I was exhausted last night after we watched When We Were Kings (an excellent documentary about the Rumble in the Jungle) but when I went to bed at 11 I just couldn't sleep. I finally gave up, wrote until after 1 and then still couldn't sleep. The last time I looked at the clock it was after 2. I dozed off, only to wake up frequently for long periods of time. In a way I can't wait to have this baby because then maybe I'll be so exhausted between feedings that I'll actually, collectively over the day, get a decent amount of sleep. At least I know how to function with sleep deprivation. I'm going to go listen to that Bare Naked Ladies song now.