Six thirty five.
I guess I’m up for the rest of the day. I need a Snapple tea to wake me up. Fame and fortune may elude me, so what does that leave? Hopefully the love of a few people. And making a difference, however great or small. My mother thought I would be the next Edgar Allan Poe, but at 54 years old, so far this hasn’t happened…
I got to meet the new help at the store, a young woman named Heather who will be working on weekends. Michelle was training her today. Heather’s hair on one side is dyed lavender and shaved on the other side. Her arms and torso are illustrated with numerous tattoos. She seems affable enough. I suppose the market could be considered a liberal place, especially by contrast with a store like Bi Mart. I feel comfortable in either location, so I may be a political moderate. It doesn’t matter very much. Yesterday morning I saw Jessica waiting in a car with her mother, I presume, outside of the salon. She didn’t acknowledge my presence with a look in my direction, and she always impresses me as rather shy, if not a bit cold and unfriendly.
Eight ten. The weather is not picture perfect; to the east I see patches of blue through muscular clouds. There is sunshine on my magnolia. At noon today the taxi will take me to Laurel Hill for dual diagnosis group. A week from today I get my second shot of vaccine against Covid. I’ll be one of the last people to do this. Better late than never, though I don’t blame those who still hesitate on vaccination.
Even famous people are not loved by everyone. Fame is the craving for universal love and also for immortality, but most of us are denied either one of these. I guess there are other ways to be a star, so this is what I’ll think about over the course of my day.