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Monthly Archives: November 2010
The evolution of coping strategies
Today is Monday, and that means that it has been 5 weeks since I turned in my visa application. When I turned in the application, Travisa told me it would take a week. I still anxiously checked my email for … Continue reading
The Chapel
Each silent worshipper seemed purposely sitting apart from the other, as if each silent grief were insular and incommunicable. ~MD I don’t suppose you can really call this chapter foreshadowing when it’s so blatant. He pretty much says, ‘Here are … Continue reading
The Street
Boring chapter. I’m sure I could dig something out of it, if I weren’t so exhausted. As it is all I can get out of it is that there are a lot of strange people in New Bedford and that … Continue reading
Breakfast
However, a good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce a good thing; the more’s the pity. So, if any one man, in his own proper person, afford stuff for a good joke to anybody, let him … Continue reading
The Counterpane
Upon waking the next morning about daylight, I found Queequeg’s arm thrown over me in the most loving and affectionate manner. You had almost thought I had been his wife. ~Moby Dick This little domestic scene, in which Ishmael wakens … Continue reading
Thanksgiving
I’m quite conflicted about posting today. I’ve already written and deleted several small winding pieces pondering what thankfulness might mean and whether I have it. The short answers are: I don’t quite know and probably yes. I want to be … Continue reading
The Spouter-Inn
Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian. ~Moby Dick I’ve always liked this chapter for its introduction of Queequeg and all the rationalising and panic that goes with anticipating sleeping two to a bed. I find it … Continue reading
The Carpet Bag
Yes, these eyes are windows, and this body of mine is the house. What a pity they didn’t stop up the chinks and the crannies though, and thrust in a little lint here and there. But it’s too late to … Continue reading
Loomings
Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially … Continue reading
