Wednesday Morning

Quarter of eight.

I’m not sure if the social distancing was a mandate or a suggestion, but people are taking it to heart. They avoid each other even on the internet, which is too extreme. My email friend hasn’t written me yet this morning. My feeling is frustration, with some irritation. Now I imagine how my parents might have responded to this eschatological situation. My mom would be a bundle of jangling nerves. But my dad would be a pillar of stability for the rest of us… It’s more cloudy than sunny today. Aesop wanted to get up, though he’s only lolling on the floor right now. I don’t remember what dreams I had last night. I’m thinking I was right to end the sessions with Sheryl, who might’ve been clueless on sexual stuff. She was merely a social worker, not a high power psychologist… I hear the sounds of traffic on the highway outside. I keep thinking of my brother. It’s like an obsession. He won’t stop popping into my mind. Still I refuse to call him as long as he drinks. It’s possible that he can’t help being a hopeless alcoholic. And the rationalization defense with him is impenetrable. He hasn’t yet seen the light. It hasn’t dawned on him how everything can be different and better. For me, there was a lucid moment when I said that everything was different now. Perhaps Jeff still has a reason for drinking. Until he has no reasons to drink, he will continue to do it. I just wish he could figure it out and be happy with his life.

Nine o’clock. The sun is coming through a bit to the accompaniment of a song in my head by Larry Tuttle. He is a Stick player from Van Nuys, California. His compositions are so fresh and often cheerful. The moods come out without the taint of addiction to substances. The music sounds and feels light and very healthy. I need to find my copy of Through the Gates. It’ll make me think of Mom, but in a good way. I heard a lot of great music before she passed away, and even made some nice recordings of my own. Maybe today I’ll pick up my Stratocaster and play it in the spirit of good times. I’d love to believe that Mom could hear it from beyond the grave, in the spirit world. But where she is, the music is so much better than what I can offer. So that her presence would benefit me more than the reverse…

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