If I have not written you—I’m an ass, if I have not called you back it is b/c my phone is not hooked up (and I’m enjoying it) and if I did not respond when you said my name I think I am sorry.
Reclusive is a lovely word.
Today I am going to see the Diane Arbus exhibit b/c it is the last day and it will be amazing. I hope. If not, I know it will be crowed and I can say reclusive, reclusive a thousand times in my head.
The sewer exploded last night again downstairs and now I need to pay someone to run cameras under my house to look at shit. Photos of shit. For some reason I find that incredibly funny—I hear humor takes over right before you go mad.
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3 comments:
Reclusivity is one of the loveliest words ever, I think. The Diane Arbus exhibit sounds absolutely amazing . . . enjoy! And I'm sorry that scatological imaging has to take place at your house. It is really awful and sort of funny at the same time.
I saw her first show, as you know, as you know. One thing I love about the Johnny Cash psychiatrist is that he is the first to ever tell me that my being reclusive is my normal state, not part of my pathology. It was such a relief to hear this after years of therapists trying to fix it.
Lee, I think it definitely would have been worth the drive---next time. I still promise sushi.
Ms. Loudon, it was like seeing your blog in black& white ;) I thought of you a great deal and wanted to rip down a photo and send it to you.
I tend to think one needs to be reclusive if one is to make art but it may be my excuse for not answering the door.
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