You know, most of the time I think I understand something and then suddenly I realize I don't.
Spent most of the day at work writing the little piece below this for the Long Goodbye.
I like Chandler a lot, his work I mean. I don't think I'd have liked him all that much in person but there are things about him I would have liked. It's pleasant to think about.
I once had a chance to buy some of his letters. They were written on fancy art deco style stationary, cream colored with his monagram stretched to the length of the page. Tasteful. He wrote in a soft purple ink. The letters weren't fascinating but they were interesting.
Then Dr J called and gave me some news that spun me. It wasn't anything new but it's harder to take coming from someone you like.
It's just health stuff and scheduling for some more tests. The biggest issue seems to be, "why aren't I in more pain?" And "how come you can still walk around?"
I don't know the answers. I don't think about them much. I just keep going.
It spun me and put me in a seriously negative mood that I still haven't pulled myself out of. It one of those chitinous moods that I've been trying to avoid. I can cheer myself up a bit by reminding myself that it's only 8 more days till the puppy arrives.
I went and spent more money then necessary to get her lots of food bowls. It was momentary relief but it was relief.
Times like this I should flip the switch and just let the world go on without me for a while. Things are what they are and sometimes no amount of will can change them.
You can't even change people and damn few are smart enough and comfortable enough to let their minds be changed. I know it and need to be in this sort of mood to have it bother me.
I keep saying it to everyone, well to someone, that today is one of those days that I wish I was a drinker. I feel like it would be good to escape some place even for just a little while.
Aw, but I don't drink and I know there's not enough drink or drugs in the world to change reality. Those things barely work enough to change our perception of reality. The things you can see just keep right on existing. I'm not an ostrich. And I don't want to sleep for a hundred years and then die.
Things weren't helped much when my housemate came to pick me up from work and he'd put a serious gash in his hand. From the bleeding and spurting it looked like he nicked an artery or something. Got the blood stopped and the wound stitched and the prospect of him not being seriously hurt lightened me.
That I got to take Good Ol' Dog out for a stroll only seemed to heighten my good mood.
One of the little runner girls I yell at to "run better" stopped by with her dog, "Mr Socks" and that put a lever under the stone walls.
It still doesn't feel good.
I'll survive.
I don't know why. I just always seem to.