I work on this program called Q. Last Friday, I was a guest. I thought I sucked like crazy, but on 1st viewing of this, I sucked less than I thought, though still sucked relatively bad. I’m only posting it because I seriously thought I sucked so much more than I did and I am using this as a reminder to me (and you, if you want to take it) that we never suck as much as we think we suck, because no one is EVER looking at us as hard as we are looking at ourselves.
I was on a show
Bonjour First Review
today i was sick.
so sick, in fact, that i tried to make myself into a geisha.
i gave up halfway through.
also, today my friend called from the Sherbourne Health Clinic and when the name popped up on the call display i immediately thought it was someone calling me to tell me i had AIDS.
i SWEAR i will soon stop writing about book things but it’s all i can think about
I went swimming on Saturday with my brother. We read this article while drinking citrus water.
I feel dumb that I referred to myself as “intelligent”.
www.sheilaheti.net
Sheila wrote me a congratulations card.
Dear Kathryn,
I discovered a very strange thing at the Dollarama, where I bought this card, searching the mile-long card aisle. NO CARD COMPANY HAS THOUGHT TO MAKE “CONGRATS ON YOUR NEW BABY BOOK” CARDS BUT ALL OF THEM PRODUCE “CONGRATS ON YOUR NEW BABY BABY” CARDS! Which is incredibly baffling because when I look about, out at the world around me, NOBODY has babies and ONE PERSON has a book! Shouldn’t that TELL US something about the world?? We both have books — and neither of us have babies. What world do we have to live in where 1/4 of the mile of cards read, “STOP CRYING, IT’S PUBLISHED NOW.” Or, “YOU HATED IT AND NOW IT’S GONE.” Or, “WHAT’D YOU GO AND DO THAT FOR??!” with a picture of a slayed row of men and a book at the end, or perhaps a little cabbage and an arrow through it and the line, “READERS ARE CABBAGEHEADS.” Or perhaps a picture of a cabbage without an arrow through it and the line, “HOW DID YOU DO THAT, CABBAGEHEAD?” In any case, suffice it to say that you are totally fucking amazing and I’m so excited for God to help you guide your precious one in the coming months. And finally, an illustration to hold dear:
(Corked is the pearl necklace, Pig is the rest of the world, apparently.)
This is all good news.
In other news, Coraline SUCKED.
I wrote a note for my mother but it didn’t make it into the book.
In April of 2009, I had to fly to Quebec City to complete some annoying task involving an expired driver’s license. On the morning of my flight from Toronto to Quebec, I found myself egregiously hungover from a night of drinking champagne and carousing in the park with my friends Sheila and Michael. I managed to keep myself from vomiting during the flight.
My parents picked me up at the airport and we began the two hour drive to their home in the woods. My mother relinquished the passenger seat because she knows I become easily carsick. My father was cursing himself for having forgotten to pick up fava beans to accompany the lamb he was going to cook that evening. He was saying things like, “Jesus CHRIST. The flagollets! How could I forget the fucking flagollets, for CHRIST’S SAKE,” while my mother squeezed his shoulder and told him that it was no big deal and that we’d figure it out – that she was sure there was some appropriate substitute bean in the pantry that we could use as a side dish. About an hour into the ride, as we were driving down a country road, my mother chuckled and asked my father to turn the car around. We both asked why. She said to me, “It’s for you, Tootsie. You won’t be disappointed.” My dad pulled a U-turn and drove back a few hundred meters. “Look,” she said, “look at that little pony in the barn.” She pointed to a small brown pony with golden foppish bangs. He was standing in a wooden barn full of hay, as still as a stone. The pony looked exactly like me. “See,” she said, “Tootsie and the little pony have the same haircut.” We all laughed a lot. As my father revved the engine and began to drive off, my laughter turned into the hiccups. I felt a fizz in the back of my throat and yelped at my dad to pull over again. I barreled out of the car and barfed all over the yellow grass and my new yellow suede gladiator sandals as the pony looked on. Humiliated, I turned to get back in the car and noticed my mother standing there quietly, holding out a hand towel so that I could wipe my mouth. She rubbed my back like I was a baby. Instantly I felt better.
When I opened the passenger door, my father peered over at the vomit and asked, “Did you have tomatoes for breakfast?”
(Sometimes she wears pigtails)
FULL
My heart was so full last night I thought it was going to fucking blow up like the world trade.
