Got my third T or T’er. Cute kid. 2 pieces chocolate candy went into his little plastic pumpkin.
I had my first 2 Trick or Treaters. I went to the door barefoot. They were surprised by that. They were two adorable little girls. I would have given them and their parents a trip to Disney World, had they asked.
I awoke around midnight and learned that the Nationals won the World Series. I had fallen asleep again to Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation. Francesco Bernadone (St Francis of Assisi) Giotto and Dante were among the people Ken discussed. Thus inspired, I ventured downstairs and picked up my copy of The Inferno, and resumed reading at Canto 21. I felt as if I had returned home (not to Hell), but to the world of serious reading and scholarship. What we modernista are doing, by neglecting these worka are starving our souls.
The coffee tastes good, every decaffeinated sip. The early morning hours, empty of the jackals’ howls, offer serenity.
I will go back upstairs shortly, perhaps sleep alone, perhaps climb back in the big bed with J.
When dawn comes, I hope to give some hours to throwing away and donating, resuming the tidying, begun in late Summer. The truth is that the clutter has me blocked emotionally. It is a metaphorical obesity, from which, for me, the other arises.
It takes work to create and carve our earthly homes. If we do not define our spaces, others will. It is as if my mother still dresses me, like I was an eternal toddler. I am no longer in love with old newspapers, and carpets filled with grit and crumbs.
I have enough. Throw it away. It won’t be missed. I will not give Amazon any more of my money to fill my emptiness.
Take exhaustion,stress, anxiety, and a malevolent virus. And one gets sick. I went to bed early, before 10:00 P.M. I slept till about 1:30 AM, came downstairs to pack J’s lunch. I prepared some new chicken salad for her, sliced some strawberries and a banana for her fruit. It did not take long. Now as I sit, I fully get that I am sick, probably from the virus J had.
I am relieved it is just this virus. I know this suntan products collection and return has been a stressor. I feel like the whole damn house has been turned topsy turvy because it has. J put an enormous amount of energy, including cursing, muttering and epic struggling with packing tape. But it is done.
I have a cup of Celestial Seasonings Peppermint Tea waiting to be drunk. I am looking at the world through half-closed eyes. I accomplished something.
I’m watching a Donald Duck cartoon on YouTube. The animators frequently show Donald’s downy butt. And guess what? It appears old double D did not have an….asshole. There, the cat is out of the bag.
I’m having strange feelings, anxiety, tiredness, sadness. I dunno. I’m OK. I am not going to hurt myself. So if I’m tired, going to bed should help with that.
I will have The Talk with J about these feelings and the need for physical intimacy. I’m feeling less and less healthy. It’s a crappy feeling.
This morning, J had to be at work at 0430 AM. I got my kiss good-bye, or something like a kiss, as she departed. I, now awake, started my day. I lacked any enthusiasm,however, frittered away some time ordering my prostate supplement on Amazon.com.
I finally went back to bed, with Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation playing on the DVD machine. I awoke again as Dutch landscape painters and tulip speculators were the subject of Clark’s review.
Resolved to tidying up, I cleaned the upstairs bath, cleaned myself up, then washed and dried the towels, wash cloths and cleaning rags.
I read Shae’s blog post for today and another post from one of her followers on how women perceive their bodies around the whole weight/ sexual attraction cultural mind game thing.
I don’t really feel as if I had enough sleep, during my two sleep intervals, nothing new there. Now I have earned the chance to put my feet up, in my estimation, after my cleaning endeavours. I think another nap is in order. Maybe I will be clear headed enough to write something a bit more intelligent.
We are human beings, all of us. That we exist as humans makes us human beings. That’s is how we “be”, ontologically speaking, just as Choco, my dear departed beagle, was a canine being. He existed as a dog. If you’re into the whole transmigration of souls thing, I suspect he had the highest form of earthly consciousness possible. Dogs keep quiet about how evolved they are, lest humans explode from jealousy.
I measured my day by what I did. I went to Mass, cooked dinner,took a nap, introduced a friend to some women in recovery at an afternoon AA meeting, and cleaned up after dinner. Now I am blogging. Funny how I often think I should be doing more, as if God looks at your time card.
What mattered, today, is what I did, today. The highlight was smiling at the toddler who sat on the same pew near me with her mother at Mass. It was a simple affirmation of the gift that being alive is.
About thirty-something years ago, an out and proud gay man called me a “drama queen”. He was, of course, right. It kind of went along with drinking or being on a dry drunk,which, until July, 1994, were my two operating modes.
I would say I acquired my penchant for ad hoc theatrics from my mother, who could have given Vivien Leigh(Scarlett O’Hara. Blanche Dubois) a run for her money. Life was one drama after the other. I think God made her crazy to teach me empathy (once I got sober).
I don’t work that way much any more, except I am something of a hypochondriac in my dotage. Every quirk and anomaly means that The Big One is waiting in the wings. (Que Fred Sanford voice , clutch chest and say “I’m coming Elizabeth.”)
I went swimming this evening, planned a dinner for tomorrow while I was swimming laps. Nothing odd there. I’m planning side dishes of baked sweet potatoes and fried apples, which always go well with pork. I thought a slow cooker barbeque would be nice. If a big pit of smoldering hickory logs (to cook an entire hog) is unavailable, cooking a pork shoulder in a slow cooker is an adequate substitute. In addition to menu planning, the swim went well, a minute and a half faster over the same distance than yesterday.
I was paying mild attention to the women playing T20 cricket in the Women’s Big Bash League, but switched to trainspotting in Ashland. I will switch back just to hear the voices of the commentators. Gotta love the Aussies.
Later, Loves ❤
About an hour ago, J texted me that she was on her way back from a store call in Williamsburg. I am excited about that. We can go eat, may be at a place that has a weekend brunch.
While she was gone, I slept some, my legs elevated. My lower back hurts, most likely from overexertion. I could sleep some more. But I need to eat first. I believe we should go to Bone Fish Girl. I want to see that sexy black lady with the green highlights in her hair. Asia is the name she uses. It might be her real name, might not. Yesterday we had a server named Chelsea, a very lithe young woman with a boy’s haircut. She was channeling Audrey Hepburn, 1950’s vintage, and masterfully pulling it off.
Note To Self: Stop “falling in love” with servers at restaurants.