I am going to devour Mary Renault's opus. Greek myths expanded into novels: what could go wrong--in the hands of a sympathetic master of prose? Nothing. This was a great read.
Precor Elliptical: 45', 5600 strides, just under 125 spm. A few bicep curls on the half-dome wiggly thing, whatever that's called, and not nearly one half of the way around the 1/12 mile track by lunging (I stopped as soon as I felt a hamstring).
In the morning I began The Shipping News but I was feeling waaay too depressed for it--the writing is bizarre without being inventive, the characters might have been better off drowned as kittens, and it reminds me of someone I miss, plus I wonder if my opinion can be separate from hers (probably not) and how pathetic that makes me (very, or call it loyal)--so I started Confederacy of Dunces instead. I read it in the whirlpool today, a little, and only a little because someone whom I first took as only annoying was TALKING AT THE OTHER WOMAN IN THE WHIRLPOOL EVEN THOUGH THE WHIRLPOOL WAS WHIRLING AND THERE'S A FAKE WATERFALL TOO AND THE ENTIRE SPACE IS, SURPRISE! TILED AND ECHOEY.
Then I took a shower, and when I came out the same woman was TALKING AT AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT VICTIM IN THE LOCKER ROOM, PLUS AT THREE OTHER WOMEN INCLUDING MYSELF WHO WERE INESCAPABLY IN EARSHOT AS WERE THE ANTIPODES. I observed without surprise that the litter of possessions--toiletries, snacks, clothing--strewn along the length of the counter and unattended when I had arrived over an hour before belonged to this woman, WHO WAS NOW NOSHING HER DRIED FRUIT AND APPLYING HER MASCARA WHILE NOT YET HAVING CLOTHED HERSELF SO SHE WAS SITTING NAKED ON A CHAIR WITHOUT BENEFIT OF A TOWEL LAYER.
I very deliberately didn't catch anyone's eye, because it's possible I have an unreasonably low tolerance for annoying people and because, whether or not that's true, it is certainly true that soliciting agreement about my annoyance with someone else would externalize and strengthen that negativity.
WHEN THAT SECOND VICTIM LEFT, FIRST GRADUALLY AND THEN SUDDENLY The Sun Also Rises, SHE THEN CONTINUED HER MONOLOGUE TO A THIRD WOMAN. HER TOPIC WAS MENOPAUSE AND HER EXACT TIMING AND SYMPTOMS AND SHE INQUIRED OF HER VICTIMS, WHOM SHE OUT-MENOPAUSED AT EVERY TURN, WHETHER THEY HAD CONSIDERED SUPPLEMENTAL ESTROGEN BECAUSE HER DOCTOR TOLD HER IT WAS NECESSARY ONLY IF YOU NOTICED YOU WERE BECOMING, NOT JUST KOOKY AS YOU'VE PROBABLY BEEN ALL YOUR LIFE, BUT NON-FUNCTIONALLY KOOKY.
Whether being told by a perfect stranger that yes, you're kooky in an above-average way that even limits other people's functionality counts as "noticing," she didn't mention, so I didn't tell her. She was a fuck of a lot less appealing than Owen Meany, anyway.
After keeping my trap shut, I ate a salad for lunch. Further signs of the apocalypse as events warrant.