Ten thirty at night.
I had a lonely day. It was like being a lone explorer in Antarctica, lost and forgotten where no other people exist. Is there such a thing as “social responsibility?” But when things are bad, everyone looks to themselves first. I’ve seen this happen at least four times in my lifetime. We are not at our best when things are their worst; it’s not like On the Beach, where the characters bravely make the most of their lives as they await certain death. It isn’t like a Sartre story or play, a chance to be a hero. Human nature is sniveling and cowardly except for a courageous few who endure whatever comes. It is to those brave and curious people that I dedicate this post.
Ten forty at night.
I don’t really know how to describe my past day.
Gloria told me I was at high risk for colon cancer and needed to get the exam done. Maybe that’s on my mind since this morning. I write it down, then my defenses go up and I have nothing more to say. It’s like paralysis—
Like the bird or mouse mesmerized by the rattlesnake. Deer in the headlights. Squirrel under your tires. Petrified: turned to stone by the eyes of the gorgon with snake-hair floating to frame her head. Frozen to an ice-statue by the witch in the Narnia story…
I guess this has been my Medusa Tuesday.
Wee hours before Tuesday.
I had a strange dream about presidential election, and it was related to my church. It isn’t clear who was the candidate for President, but it might have been myself. Whoever, I felt a very strong desire for something or someone, perhaps a woman I cared about. Yesterday evening I had another dream, about a crush I have on somebody I’ve known for a few years. It was a sweet little dream, so all hope is not dead. It contained a lot of water imagery, and it seemed she was teaching me to swim at some point. Toward the end, I ate black caviar on a tortilla chip with her… I often think, what would my life be like if I only had more balls, more masculine assertiveness than I do? It seems like sometimes you have to push the envelope of what’s acceptable in order to make any progress in your life, and move outside of your comfort zone, take some risks, and live dangerously until you win the prize. Even then, having a comfort zone can be a trap. “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Not even fear of the devil should stand in the way of conquering happiness… Now I wonder what my parents were so afraid of, and why did they have to tyrannize over me the whole time they were alive? They had very little intelligence and hardly any generosity, hiding away with their television and cigarettes, doing no good to anybody. If they had looked at it from the worst case scenario they might have taken some heart, some courage to take the bull by the horns. They lived to be in their early seventies, but it’s more accurate to say they existed.
The root of all infirmity is fear.
Quarter after four in the morning.
I began to feel better once I identified the thoughts that were bothering me. I even got a decent sleep up to a point tonight. The past two weeks were very difficult emotionally, I don’t know why. Perhaps May will be a happier month. My band mate put me on the spot regarding vaccination last Saturday, so then I made an appointment with Bi Mart on Monday for next Thursday. Another church member also urged me to get the vaccine when we met up a week ago. My sister has been inoculated, but she didn’t put pressure on me to do the same… I hate feeling powerless over my life, but truly, no one else can rob me of my native freedom. This agency is inalienable, not by the Constitution, but rather by nature.
I just got a great email from my good friend. She is right that our worst enemy is fear, and it’s dividing us up more and more. It makes people do crazy things. The coronavirus today is like Communism in the 1950’s, with Joe McCarthy and his witch hunts. The fear escalates to a frenzy and people do things they regret. Maybe the saddest part about it is that people don’t know their history. Consequently we keep making the same mistakes again and again. Those who know what’s best for us must either take action or, like in the Ray Bradbury book, go off by themselves in a small band and wait for events to shake down… Is it hyperbole to say every individual for himself?
Nine thirty. I had a nightmare about making a midnight run for beer. I was backing out of my driveway in my old Nissan truck. The clock on the dash said 1:05am and I couldn’t get the gear into drive. The engine stalled—and I woke up. So the store was already closed. My truck was stuck in the middle of the street and everyone would know what I was up to. Like a little crime I was trying to get away with. Busted! The guilt was the worst part. And the apprehension everybody used to feel because of my addiction. The nightmare was bad, but also good in an instructive way. No one would want to see me drink again. It seems that alcoholism is a terrible lizard that never completely dies, though it can be reduced down to a cute baby alligator. Just don’t feed him, particularly after midnight.
Four o’clock 🕓. Aesop keeps indicating the front door with the anticipation of pleasure, but I have to tell him that the mail is not bringing him any treats today. I think I’ll give him another bone from the package stored away in the pantry. The temperature in the house has surpassed 73 degrees, making me a little giddy… I gave Aesop a new bone, so now he’s in bliss, of course. I feel like a reverse Mother Hubbard, for the cupboard was not bare, and the dog actually got something.
Five twenty five. My imagination for writing posts has run dry for the present. Everyone seems to be busy worrying about the virus or something. Blogging is not what it used to be. Maybe it’s time to go back to Distributed Proofreaders and do some volunteering. I’ve been doing WordPress for almost four years and it’s getting kind of old. I should just follow my feelings to determine the next move. Everything is stalemated by the circumstance of the coronavirus, so it’s hard to know what to do. Meanwhile I continue to age a little more every day. When I lie down, sometimes I feel how fragile my life is. My heart could stop beating, I could stop breathing; one of my systems could fail, and I could die on the spot. Something keeps me going, perhaps mind over matter, or maybe there’s a spiritual component to human existence; I don’t know. But I need an activity to keep me occupied, especially when the world is at a standstill. It is not the end of the world, but people are acting as if it were. The sun keeps on shining day after day while we hunker down in terror. We’re not making much sense. Or perhaps people have better things to do than blog nowadays? And maybe I don’t blame them.