a debacle of leaves and stones in its own way

Tolstoy wrote (depending on the translation) "happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." My family's unhappiness is so typical that though it may make a good novel I cannot imagine it would interest anyone in real life.



The heat drained the trees to an extent they unseasonably shed their leaves this week. I feel betrayed by deciduous trees. They lend a false sense of security in the summer then leave you bare and exposed in the winter. The North has more evergreens, quiet evergreens that bend in the winter wind but also tend to snap in the cold. I like the way you see the seasons change here. Nonetheless, the trees betray me.



Last Sunday I thought I got food poisoning from a package of Buitoni ravioli but a week of nausea confirmed I had some flu. The sickness seemed to coincide with my willful desire to flip off my professor's mandatory attendance policy. I truly felt so nauseous I couldn't sleep half the week, just pass out on the couch to the sound of the news and hope I'd learn all about the Israeli crises through some strange process of osmosis (I think I did). All the same, goddamn Catholic guilt.



I'm terribly disappointed to report that debacle has an Old French rather than Germanic root. I'd desperately hoped for a Germanic root because, debacle, say it aloud, just sounds so wickedly guttural. On the upside, did you know it also means "the breaking up of ice in a river"? Reminds me of a fabulous passage from Mr. Sammler's Planet about dilapidate (from the Latin lapis or lapid) and how you really shouldn't use it except in reference to the falling apart of stones. Jesus this shit gets me hot.