Out of Forks
First, my C-section has returned to its originally scheduled date of October 27, 7:30am. I am disappointed, but since my time slot on the 26th was at 4pm, I’m reminding myself this is a difference of just 15 hours.
Time has slowed down considerably now that the end is in sight. For me, anyway. Andrew is running around like crazy, trying to get all the last-minute baby-coming-home details taken care of. But here in the hospital, my days are inching by. The problem is that I have left Forks: the world of the Twilight books. Terrible as they were, they were utterly absorbing, and I enjoyed both reading them and texting amusing-to-me academic-essay topics to Molly (“Bella is willing to become a vampire but not a wife. Discuss in the context of gender roles and the Facebook generation.” “Neither Edward nor Aro can read Bella’s thoughts. Discuss what this implies about the efficacy of prayer.”) But now I have finished books one, two, and three, and the final book is swimming in the postal system. Out of Forks, time has resumed its plodding pace.
So I have transported myself, instead, to Panem, the world of The Hunger Games. Having little foresight, however, I purchased only the first book of the series, which I promptly finished in less than two days. I have four days to go. And this has driven me to take a heretofore unthinkable step: to Andrew’s glee, I requested that he bring me his Kindle today. I feel like I’ve betrayed myself in the worst way, all my firm beliefs about books and pages and ink and etc., but at the same time I suppose I’m willing to accept that this is an extenuating circumstance. I’ve always said that maybe, maybe, I’d agree to read digital books if I were taking an around-the-world trip and had to pack lightly; perhaps I’ll now expand that to include hospital bedrest.
The Kindle now sits on my hospital-bedside table, waiting, waiting. But don’t be fooled: this will not resolve the central disjunct of our marriage (Andrew supports us by working in the world of e-books; I scorn e-books). It is temporary, just as other unpleasant things are temporary: hospital bedrest, eating every meal with plastic silverware, every-three-days blood draws, seeing Lucia for only a few hours each week. Surely it is the least of all the evils I’ve had to endure.
Time has slowed down considerably now that the end is in sight. For me, anyway. Andrew is running around like crazy, trying to get all the last-minute baby-coming-home details taken care of. But here in the hospital, my days are inching by. The problem is that I have left Forks: the world of the Twilight books. Terrible as they were, they were utterly absorbing, and I enjoyed both reading them and texting amusing-to-me academic-essay topics to Molly (“Bella is willing to become a vampire but not a wife. Discuss in the context of gender roles and the Facebook generation.” “Neither Edward nor Aro can read Bella’s thoughts. Discuss what this implies about the efficacy of prayer.”) But now I have finished books one, two, and three, and the final book is swimming in the postal system. Out of Forks, time has resumed its plodding pace.
So I have transported myself, instead, to Panem, the world of The Hunger Games. Having little foresight, however, I purchased only the first book of the series, which I promptly finished in less than two days. I have four days to go. And this has driven me to take a heretofore unthinkable step: to Andrew’s glee, I requested that he bring me his Kindle today. I feel like I’ve betrayed myself in the worst way, all my firm beliefs about books and pages and ink and etc., but at the same time I suppose I’m willing to accept that this is an extenuating circumstance. I’ve always said that maybe, maybe, I’d agree to read digital books if I were taking an around-the-world trip and had to pack lightly; perhaps I’ll now expand that to include hospital bedrest.
The Kindle now sits on my hospital-bedside table, waiting, waiting. But don’t be fooled: this will not resolve the central disjunct of our marriage (Andrew supports us by working in the world of e-books; I scorn e-books). It is temporary, just as other unpleasant things are temporary: hospital bedrest, eating every meal with plastic silverware, every-three-days blood draws, seeing Lucia for only a few hours each week. Surely it is the least of all the evils I’ve had to endure.
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