It is 8:00 and I am pretty much cooked. And I just rolled over my foot with a chair. Arg. There is no good reason to be this tired. Ouch. And yet I am so very very tired. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Hmmm. Content, you say? Well, apparently one of my roommates (effectively a college freshman) took me to see the university library today. Originally, I was under the impression we were going to get a book, which we did, after a god awful long slog through desks and catalogs and hallways. I wanted to see the library, and I had recommended the book in question, so I thought I would go along to provide moral support and because I had heard several things about Italian libraries, none terribly complimentary.
As it turns out, I may also have (possibly) aided in a slightly more nefarious endeavor. When we arrived home (who would have thought it would take 45 minutes to get a single book from a library 2 minutes from home?) my roommate helpfully revealed that she had told a boy she publicly denies being interested in (but privately may well wish to be pursued by) that we were going to go to the library together this afternoon, either because she wanted to make him jealous (a not-impossible but unconfirmable possibility) and/or because she was angry at him for not lending her a book and for forgetting his promise to lend the book in the first place (a certainty) and thus needed an excuse to get out of going to some protest or other he invited her to.
I suppose I'll never know. But I do know I'm glad to be returning to American libraries soon.
11.07.2008
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2 comments:
you don't seem to be taking nearly enough pleasure in being the famous "other man"
It's difficult to take pleasure when you don't quite know what's going on: gender politics can be difficult enough in a first language. I would definitely wind up in serious hot water were anyone (my wife, my roommate, some strange Italian) to get the idea that I actually *was* the famous "other man." Which I am not.
With this in mind, I did ask about him so I could be sure that he wasn't 2 meters tall and 120 kg, with the Italian name equivalent to "Sven" or "Hans" with 'amor' and 'odio' tattooed on his knuckles. Apparently he's not much more than 1.5 meters and 40 kg sopping wet. I didn't catch his name.
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