I Can Remember Where I Come From

I took a little break from this space.
I was out getting things done.

“Mother, the car is here.
Somebody, leave the light on.
Black chariot for the redhead,
dancing, dancing girl.

And when I dance for him,
Somebody, leave the light on,
just in, just in case I like the dancing.

I can remember where I come from.”
(Tori Amos, “Mother”)
via Sara Vandermeulen
I’ve done it.  I’ve dyed my hair red.  It is still so new and so strange, but there is a depth and an energy in it that I am ready for.
So many men’s heads turn…
I am still learning what this means for me–what I am creating through this.
I am creating a solidarity with myself.
Pictures will come, but Nathan’s been in San Francisco with the camera, so give me a minute.
I am putting The Brothers Karamazov, unfinished, back on the shelf.  Indefinitely.  I went to war with myself about the idea of quitting a book (I’ve only done it once before), but ultimately, after three-hundred pages and still nothing for me to grab a hold of, I started thinking about the other pages I could be delving into.
There are so many books to read.
So I suppose you could say Tolstoy wins.  My book club, The Gypsy Snipers, are reading Anna Karenina this month.
And as a side project, I’ve started Just Kids, by Patti Smith.
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