Eat Quietly

While I was sitting in the Petrie Court in the museum where I work waiting for my shift to end contemplating why I like Bourdieu and why it is so difficult to explain what Post-Structuralism is, the wind gave a sharp little whistle through the glass wall of windows facing Central Park reminding me that it is winter and all the leaves I see out there are dead more or less. This of course is obscured by the fact that Harlan and Marilyn have a new baby girl and next week we are going to see Lyric and Olivia and Matthew. Yes, it will be Chinese bus time down to Arlin and Racine’s wedding in Marryland where in celebration of another semester of Chinese Studies behind me I will contemplate my free time and celebrate my nothingness with a waffle and along informal sleep (hopefully). Jennifer is still not complaining like she used to though she says she is, but I’ve been advised anyway not to complain about it by my father-in-law who considering his 35ish years of successful wife appeasement (they seem happy together) is a regular sage in his quotation of Proverbs. Fortunately unlike one of my co-worker’s mom, Jennifer does not wash our curtains obsessively every couple weeks making me hang the high parts all over a two-storey house. Perhaps this is because only three or so windows and we have no curtains since Jennifer is loath to obstruct our magnificent parking lot/bill board view. Although this is most likely seeing a half-full glass bone dry since we do have a nice Hopper-esque view of 1930s style tenements and clear blue sky. And today it snowed for the second time and made everything nice and white and fluffyish looking.