Eight thirty 🕣.
The forecast calls for constant sunshine and much higher temperatures all next week. My dad’s anniversary is on my mind, gone 21 years. He was a very ordinary guy who loved his comfort and security. He wasn’t particularly brave; in fact he was quite a wuss, and had an inferiority complex. He was courageous only one time on my behalf. When I had neck seizures from taking Haldol, he jumped the fence at Baker Pharmacy to get the antidote to the side effect…
This time I got robbed on the doggie pepperoni, but I paid it without comment. “September” by Earth, Wind & Fire was on the radio. We used to play this song in Satin Love 23 years ago. Chris was an amazing musician. I couldn’t help but admire him in spite of his braggadocio sometimes. Those were glory days for me, not likely to be revived. Maybe it’s not about the glory, anyway… I came home in the foggy morning, passing the children who live in Darlene’s old house. Their mom came out in her bathrobe and chided them about something. Even so casual, she looked very attractive to me. I hadn’t felt this way in a long while. It would be like “going home,” except I don’t know the contents of her mind. If I knew, it could be a turnoff.
Quarter after ten. The fog is beginning to lift. I’ve heard it said that D.H. Lawrence, though a genius, was misguided. There are so many different ways of looking at human life. It’s almost as though the same world were multiplied by eight billion perceptions of it: eight billion realities. And yet we pretend it is all one, for convenience. We shove square pegs through round holes and get on with it. The importance of self knowledge can’t be stressed enough. Such a tragedy when people die with their lives unexamined, unfulfilled. We are not carbon copies of each other or of a system. Somewhere within every individual there’s a blueprint for the conduct of life. From there, you either find a niche or carve one that didn’t exist before.