Opinions, as the old saying goes, are like dismembered cheerleaders in the freezer: everybody's got one. I mean...they do, right?

It's rainy and cold outside...and my car seems to have a dead battery. At least I hope it's only a dead battery. I'll have to spend time tomorrow getting the Small Black Saturn over to the garage. I do walk to work, I can walk to the library, and there's no immediate need to get to the Big Box store for groceries. If it comes to it, I can even walk across to the riverboat casino where I plan on having Christmas buffet. But it's depressing enough--- I plan my Saturday mornings around being at the coffeeshop by the university gates, and I hate feeling trapped here. And of course if it's more than just a battery, I'll be broke long into the new year. Not a good way to begin the Year Ten.

There is something about a rainy December night that is depressing. I miss having someone in my life, miss long conversations late at night. There are particular people whose voices I really miss--- Britt-Nicole, of course, and Laura-Ashlee at bladeoftheknife. I miss feeling like I'm part of something, miss feeling like someone wants me in her life.

I miss other things at year's end, too. My brother sent me a Facebook note a few days ago where he mentioned that he missed our parents at year's end, and that's true for me, too. I miss things like the cornbread dressing (crisp, dark, with bits of ground sausage and chicken) and gravy my mother made at Christmas. I miss fresh-made biscuits and apple butter and watching science documentaries with my father on Christmas morning. Someone told me once that she wanted to go with me to my parents' grave and have me introduce her. She said she wanted to say to them that she'd take care of me and be good for me. That was a gesture I'd never expected, and one that really touched me. I'll never hear from her again. I know how and why it ended, and (sadly) it couldn't have ended any other way. But I miss her voice nonetheless, and I miss being someone who was worth the gesture.

I'll pour out a glass of Jameson's in a bit and read a bit--- the Ataturk biography, the account of the fall of Smyrna, some more of "Prep". I watched Michael Winterbottom's "Butterfly Kiss" last night. I love his films, love his sense of light and colour. But "Butterfly Kiss" was disturbing and depressing. I need to watch something like "In the Mood for Love"--- something that will lighten the mood.

I have Ferzan Ozpetek's "Harem" to watch this weekend. I saw it once before, maybe a couple of years ago. It's an interesting film--- about the fate of the imperial harem women after the last Sultan left Constantinople. I wish I could talk to both Trish at kissingverlaine and Miss Ginny at ginny_mccoo about it. That's another part of the silence that I do hate. I miss talking about books and films and music. I miss having someone with whom I can just enthuse over new things. I've lived in and through books all my life. BRDYTW girls always shared that with me. I miss that--- being able to call someone and tell her about what I'm reading, having a girl tell me to try this new band or want to talk about critical theory.

Note: ask Miss Ginny what she thinks of Raymond Carver. And ask her why I've never been able to read him.

I have A.J. Arberry's rendering of the Qur'an. I didn't know I had one. But there it is--- sitting next to Michael Sells' "Approaching the Qur'an" and the Everyman edition of the KJV. The Sells book comes with a CD of calls to prayer. I still love Pico Iyer's phrase "living on muezzin time", and I loved the times when I've been somewhere with muezzin calls. I may read aloud from Arberry later tonight. It's a rendering that's idiosyncratic but lovely. And I wish I had a copy of Arberry's "Shiraz: City of Saints and Poets". Lovely little book. Again, something to talk about with Trish and Miss Ginny.

I did hear from Ms. Chang earlier. She's depressed this season, too. It's not even raining where she is. Maybe it is only a pre-Christmas thing. Too many memories at this time of year, too much of a sense of ending.

But I can hear the rain falling harder outside. There's the whole urban set of sounds: sirens in the distance, tugboat horns on the river, distant train sounds. The rain is muffling them. I do wish I had someone to talk to. I wish I could just lie back in the dark and listen to the rain and talk about books and hopes.