It’s impossible to ever really share with another human being what I’m thinking about. Thankfully, my husband doesn’t start many conversations thusly. So here’s a two-minute window into my thought life.
I’m a little bummed that I’ll never see my own skull. [Spend next several minutes considering whether surgery could be done to remove my face so as to take a picture of my skull so that I can see it. Get overwhelmed thinking about detaching tear ducts and tissue.] It’s mine but I can’t ever see it!? This seems – at this particular moment – ridiculously unfair! Really, I wanna know if by studying my skull a forensic anthropologist would come up with my actual likeness. But I also kinda want to hold it.
I have still never gotten over that delectable J.Crew cape that I let slip between my fingers.
[Insert memory of Ezra right before we went through the Disneyland gate for the first time.]
[Fabricate image of myself and my sisters dancing in a meadow while Mumford & Sons plays for our delectation.]
I wonder whether I’ll try to fashion a collaboration between Sociology and Art History or Comparative Literature for the purpose of studying/hypothesizing and then studying the culture of omission with regard to Canada and slavery. I then wonder whether I’d need to spend some time doing AH/CL research in the States. Hmm.
I still wanna do a dissertation on the comparative expatriation of Richard Wright and James Baldwin.
Time for a peanut butter cookie.