epiphony

Newly branchée, the ethernet cord queuing from the living room to mine, I came home to find my cord curled up, forlorn, under the stairs…this happened several times. I prepared a speech to Manon, undoubtedly the architect of my unhappiness: “Je sais que ça te derange, mais…” Before I had a chance she explained that the WiFi didn’t work when I was plugged in, which sounded suspiciously impossible but I believed her like an idiot, though I mumbled “Mais je comprends pas…” just like my idiot students. Then Romain revealed that it was, in fact, a weird lie, and we gossiped about how chiante she is becoming…she is, he agrees, probably just hungry.

My salad days with Hannah were super cool, riche en noix and lubricated with Klonopin that may or may not have been lubricated with lube (sick!). After our daily salad we ate anana after hananah and fearfully used Manon’s hair straightener behind huis clos. In Paris we partied with Jennie and her set of diplomats’ sons, and Josh and Josh, homonymic if not homologous, shared a strawberry mojito and giggled over Josh K’s musical masterpieces (no homophony). Now Hannah’s gone, along with the rest of my ananas, and life is lacking in puns, palindromes, and antioccidental antioxidants. I bore some gâteau des rois from my school’s epiphenomenal Epiphany party and ate it on Rue des Trois Mages just for the sake of synchrony.

I’ve suffered an epitarsal injury and I can't even marcher to the marché, so I’ve been reading Ulysse gramophone with Manon’s frozen aubergines draped over my ankle, which would upset her so much if she knew. Derrida, though not nearly as good at puns as Hannah, or at nicknames as Liz, has indirectly inspired the surnom Phonemanon, for while Manon is only arguably le phénomène comme phonème, she is certainly on the phone a lot, and this excerpt from Finnegans Wake seems to aptly describe her babelistic, paralinguistic reign of terror in our once-happy home:

…and, moguphonoised by that phonemanon, the unhappitents of [12 bd Paul Claudel] have terrerumbled from firmament unto fundament and from tweedledeedumms down to twiddledeedees...

Mais non, she really is just hungry…I should offer her a Luna Bar, except I want them all for myself.