On alarms and obsession

Heya,

“Take the first sentence from your favourite book and make it the first sentence of your post.”

I don’t really have a favourite book. The book I’m reading right now is California by Edan Lepucki. I don’t remember what the first sentence of that book is. My favourite first sentence of a book is, “The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger follower.” There’s just so much there. A weight to the way the words follow one another. A foreshadowing that is too light to even be termed such. A shading of words in a desolate space.

But The Gunslinger by Stephen King is also not my favourite book. It’s up there, but it’s not my favourite. Especially given the progression of the series.

But that’s verging into spoiler-ific territory, so I won’t continue. Except to say that The Dark Tower series is among Stephen King’s best work, cumulatively, and that you should read it if you haven’t.

All my favourite books are sci-fi fantasy, and I don’t have any of them with me right now.

I’m currently in my best friend’s apartment. I have been awake for … eighteen hours. Which is far from the longest I’ve been awake, but probably longer than I should be awake. It has been a stressful day. I am an organizer for a music festival event thing, and … well, if you’ve ever been involved in anything like that, you understand, and if you haven’t, I probably can’t explain it. Certainly not when I’m as tired as I am right now.

My friend has fallen asleep, but I have other work to chip away at before I can crash. I’m also waiting for another friend to text me so that I can let her up into the apartment. Which, who knows when that will be.

Tomorrow should be better. More helpers, less hassle. Everyone a little more settled in, including me.

I said that I don’t have a favourite book at the start of this post, and that’s true. I don’t have a favourite book. Like so many things that I like, I reach a point with most books where I enjoy them but don’t feel that fervent devotion to them that I feel characterizes a favourite. For a span of time my favourite movie was Memento. Now, whenever anyone asks, I either say that it’s Princess Bride or The Nightmare Before Christmas. There are certainly other movies that I’m enamored off, that I find more stimulating, but those two movies have been such a lovely part of my life for such a length of time that, even if I’m not in love with them in a kind of wanna-fuck-you way that I think characterizes infatuation and adoration even in the mental sphere, they add up to being my favourite.

I don’t have that with music. I went through a massive Doors phase when I was about thirteen (I know, weird time to go through your Doors phase, right?), but now the only song by them I can listen to in it’s entirety is “The Crystal Ship.”

I regularly become obsessed with things. Right now, I’m vaguely obsessed with Chambord. Particularly the Gin and Tonic and Chambord that I discovered the other day and am drinking right this moment. While exhausted and waiting for the text that will let me sleep.

I say discovered. It’s the simplest thing. Get a tumbler. Put some ice in it. Add an ounce of gin (Bombay Sapphire), an ounce of Chambord (I don’t know if there are varieties of Chambord or if some family in France holds the patent), and the fill with tonic (Schweppes. Any other tonic is just sugar and nonsense). Add a lime if you have one (I didn’t). Drink. Feel at one with the universe. Finish you drink and feel really fucking tired. Repeat.

Or something like that. Kind of obsessed with Chambord right now. And peacocks, though that’s super recent. And with making my friend watch Orphan Black.

Speaking of my friend, she set an alarm for herself because she was going to take a “power nap” and then go out while I did some work, and her alarm has been going off for about five minutes now. “A Kiss with a Fist” by Florence and the Machine. For the last two and a half minutes, I’ve been going through all of the alarms available on my phone and playing them at high volume next to her ear. She has not woken up to any of them, not even the classic iPhone “Alarm” alarm that sounds like the nuclear plant is melting down. I didn’t think anyone could sleep through the nuclear plant melting down.

So that wasn’t a response to the prompt, really. But it kind of was. A little, tiny bit.

Love,

B

P.S. She just turned her alarm off.

P.P.S. Her alarm went off again, and she turned it off again.

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