On Saturday mornings, I sleep until the afternoon - yeah, it’s an oxymoron. I love getting up at 12.30, showering until 1, eating breakfast at 2. It’s such a guilty pleasure, to pretend that the day begins when I am ready for it. Saturday mornings also tend to be very philosophical.
I saw Capote last night. A movie can rarely move me so deeply. I have always loved Capote, to me he was one of the factors that sparkled my interest in the idea of America - the good and the bad - back in high school. Breakfast at Tiffany’s, amazingly poignant! And while I realize that the movie reflects mostly the director’s imagination, I still cannot help but empathize with Capote’s feelings. Love of the kind that kills you inside, so you kill it back - quite literally in Capote’s case. Not even only love for other human beings, but for places, moments, abstractions. Conflicting desires, of the kind that pull you in opposite directions until you tear apart. Rage. Love. Rage. It was great.
On a different note, my 80-year-old-sweet-lady neighbor listens to Kanye West. Loudly, since she is hard of hearing. “Now I ain’t sayin’ she a gold digger…” This is still better than my 20-year-old-sorority-sister-bitch neighbor I had in college, whose boyfriend(s) thought the quality of sex was measured by how hard they bang the bed against the wall.
I want to spend the day talking about men with Sofie, drinking 7 cups of coffee in her kitchen. Instead, I will clean, grade, do laundry and stats. Did you see the title of this post?