Very scattered days, these. Makes me write like sentences, this.
I'm in the middle of scheduling the electrical repair job on the office. Contractors in my house bug the hell out of me. Part of me wants to know their life story and part of me wants them the hell out, fix it and be gone. Hanging around while they do their work is a mix between acting the gracious host and being a nosy scrutinizing employer. The whole shebang is an invasion into my space and my stuff by a person who could be kind, fascinating and helpful. This sort of thinking is all so unnecessary. I complicate this beyond reason. I must simply relax, be glad the problem is being rectified, and accept that after the electrician sees the problem, the next few weeks will be spent observing a crew of six men replace all my wiring while discovering earthquake damage amid the nests of termites which exploded with activity when the rusty pipes finally burst. Can you say "second mortgage?" I knew that you could.
Meanwhile, the bitter juices of the oncoming Thanksgiving Day Dysfunction Festival are already beginning to baste my consciousness. I am becoming persuaded that the purpose of the holidays is to insert emotional hurdles into daily life on such a regular basis that it disallows all creative momentum, save for whatever bile-encrusted rants are so irrepressible that they emerge in peristaltic waves of rage, regret and dismay.
Do you sense that I'm not my usual perky self? I need time to focus.
I need to start running again, is what I need. The toe, I hereby declare, is healed. I still treat it gingerly, but hey, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, and I gotta hit my running trails again or else I'm gonna start talking to myself in public and then everybody's gonna know about my termites and my pipes and they're gonna tell me "Oh, you should've used so-and-so, he's a good electrician."
* * * * * * *
Viv has been using the computer a lot lately. This is fine. She is entitled to it. It would be wrong for me to roam about the house, stamping my feet while whining mine mine mine mine mine. So I don't do it. I am gracious. I am good. But tonight, after she falls asleep, I will lean over her angelic face bathed in moonglow and slumber, find her delicate porcelain ear, and whisper "laptop." 200 times.
"Koyaanisqatsi" -- Philip Glass -- KOYAANISQATSI - LIFE OUT OF BALANCE
Wisdom of the Day:
"Cheer up, the worst is yet to come."
-Philander C. Johnson