We’ve been catching up with The Fall and it’s a really good series, but for some reason in the 3rd season Gillian Anderson has decided to deliver all her lines only in the tiniest, phlegmy, barely audible whisper, even in situations where it’s incongruous. Once you become aware of it, watching becomes difficult.  You realize that she would be completely unintelligible to the characters she’s interacting with…

Sometimes I miss the bathtub in our old apartment.  With my head half-submerged I could hear the sound of pipes throughout the building. Rushing water. Distant televisions. Dinners being made and this perfect ominous grey sound, reminiscent of static and images from Depeche Mode’s Never Let Me Down Again.  A kind of grey totality rumbling underneath everything.

-I’m pretty sure I eat more baby corn than the average person.

-I once heard my father disparage a person by saying they’d ruined their dog.  I was never really certain about what he meant by that. Regarding my neighbor’s pooch and its behavior I’ve come to understand. 

-I got lost in the winds last night.  They buffeted the house so forcefully, and the wind chimes across the street were creating an insane melody. It sounded like diesel locomotives and waterfalls. It felt like I was spinning.

-I sometimes think about replacing my little bed with one of those ridiculous adjustable reclining chairs, as I so often imagine I’m piloting a spacecraft in those moments before sleep. It might complete the mood.

It’s interesting to think about life in terms of insignificant choices that changed everything. Moments that didn’t matter.  Car crashes avoided by an extra minute in the bathroom.  Illnesses prevented by turning left, people you didn’t meet, some ridiculous thing you did in 2007 that affected millions of lives, and you’re never going to know.  I guess everyone has a bunch of stories they didn’t make happen, and only one they followed through on.  It’s a complex machine.