Sunshine and Ravioli

The holidays are over, leaving in their wake a pressing sense of quiet doom. The holidays are over, and everyone is going away again.

Right now I'm cheering myself up listening to Louis Prima singing scat in "Pennies From Heaven," which is such a fun song. I got my first iTunes giftcard this Christmas, and decided that Tuesday was as good as any to sit down and figure out how to use it. I bought Prima's "Pennies from Heaven" and "The Bigger the Figure" first, because I'd fallen in love with both watching Igor. Then I bought a dirty Spanish song. It was an accident; iTunes only gives a thirty-second clip of each song, and when I googled the words I'd caught from the thirty seconds to find the lyrics, a different song came up. The lyrics the site gave me were fine, but ultimately totally different from the ones of the song I bought. It's pretty unfortunate, because it had a really great sound, sort of like Chicago or Huey Louis and the News in Spanish.

Of course I also bought "Hey There Delilah", and cried through it as always. I am going to be such a wreck next year.

The song has changed, now, leaving this good mood entirely unsupported. I had a nightmare a few weeks ago that I knew everyone at college. At least we know that will not happen. I dread being lonely, but I am terrified of being anything else. I've been told there will be plenty of lonely times, but that I should be fine because my personality is such that I probably won't notice. Very funny.

So much I am going to miss. I am trying to rally at least a little excitement by filling up a box downstairs with new things for my dorm that I don't get to touch until next year. So far I have a toaster, a little magnetic picture frame, and a string of Chinese box lights. Which are pretty fabulous, but, I predict, will of be of little actual consolation when the time comes.

More from Oedipus

Sorrows in a legion,
Sorrows none can cipher.
No shaft of wit or weapon
For a people stricken.
Shriveled soil and shrinking
Wombs in childbirth shrieking.
Soul after soul like fire
Beats, beats upward, soaring
To the god of the setting sun.

You see, I have this tragic flaw...

I read recently in some book about old dogs that humans are the only species that see themselves as the hapless hero in the grand and fateful epic of thier own lives. Whether or not this is true I really have no idea. But it seemed like a good intro at the time.

Actually, my own expirience would lead me to believe the contrary-- if my two dogs do not see themselves as the heros, saviors, and main characters in some kind of melodrama, they have fooled me. Such self-centered creatures. But perhaps at seven they are not old enough. I do not recall any of the giving, beautiful dogs venerated in the book being under ten. Perhaps there is time for a change of heart yet.

But back to the hero typing this post. Greek tragedgies always ended with the downfall of the main character, as well as his wife, his children, his children's children, their children, and the guy who owned the little grocery down the street where the hero once bought his Thanksgiving turkey. The downfall was inevitable and expected. However, for purposes of keeping the audience in at least a little bit of suspense, the Greeks came up with a few twists on the huge, great downfall. Of course, the downfall always came (couldn't let the play end happily or anything), but there was now a total of three different reasons why.

1. The unthrawtability of destiny
2. The terrible and irreversible misjudgement made by the hero
3. The TRAGIC FLAW