Another boring personal update!
The baby has a cold, and is producing more snot than his body can possibly hold by volume. This morning he wiped his hand through the crust on his nose, rubbed his eye, and stuck his paw in my mouth, so I'm sure I shan't hold out for long myself. In fact, I just sneezed. Awesome. He's got a temp of 100.5°F, which means he can't go to daycare today, but he seems perfectly happy, playing and almost-crawling around, just a little more tired than usual.
Also, Himself called from India last night to say his project is in crisis and he needs 4 or 5 more days there to help fix it, so more solo parenting for me. Which is okay, really; now that the baby's sleeping through the night and better at entertaining himself, solo parenting isn't as exhausting as it used to be. Too bad we'll both be sick, though, or I could have people over.
It's going to be a long weekend, is what I'm saying.
ETA: Apropos of nothing, oh my god, check out this man's paintings. The most weirdly compelling ... not social commentary per se, but wow. He's captured some of the zeitgeist, for sure.
Also, Himself called from India last night to say his project is in crisis and he needs 4 or 5 more days there to help fix it, so more solo parenting for me. Which is okay, really; now that the baby's sleeping through the night and better at entertaining himself, solo parenting isn't as exhausting as it used to be. Too bad we'll both be sick, though, or I could have people over.
It's going to be a long weekend, is what I'm saying.
ETA: Apropos of nothing, oh my god, check out this man's paintings. The most weirdly compelling ... not social commentary per se, but wow. He's captured some of the zeitgeist, for sure.
Labels: boring
posted by The Stute Fish at 08:03
2 Comments:
I love how the women in the paintings look annoyed and distracted. Like they could just as easily be looking over an excel spreadsheet of disappointing first quarter sales projections.
Yeah, the sort of - weirdly mercantile/blase unsexy sexuality of it all just kills me. It makes me think about the people I vaguely hear about who make the tabloids, or the Bush daughters, somehow. Too much money and too much gin and too much porn and everyone's just going through the motions. It's kind of weirdly grim and yet opulent. I love it, but I wouldn't want to hang one on my wall. I might buy the book.
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