One o’clock. Around this time of day is when my mood often goes downhill. I get irritable and anxious. My conscience cracks down on me and I feel miserable. I begin to borrow trouble and worry about things. I don’t know why. The sun is high in the sky in the early afternoon, ruling over the earth like a judge, a “blonde assassin.” …I don’t want to call my sister in the morning, but I suppose I should. It’s the same thing every Monday.
Two o’clock. I’ve ordered two guitar stands from the internet. Should arrive Friday, but maybe later. It isn’t that important. I’m not sure what really is important. I’ve come to an impasse in my writing. I didn’t sleep well last night, so maybe I should rest for a while. Tomorrow’s another garbage day. I don’t have the energy. My mind is impoverished of thoughts. I’m uninspired, and a bit paralyzed. This is not a good afternoon for me. Something’s bothering me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have agreed to go to church next Friday? The thing about church is that it’s a community activity. Most people don’t think of the philosophical aspects, the logical nuts and bolts underscoring the religious practice. Between thought and deed there can come a schism. Hyper conscious people will detect the faults in the logic, while others go ahead with the charitable work. How useful is it to criticize the reasoning? Possibly it only bogs down the operation, preventing the execution of good works. A bad manager is one who thinks too much. Fortunately I’m not in a leadership role. My life is that of the lone philosopher, until I find a cure for philosophy. The old slogan for Nike was “Just do it.” It was not “Just think it.”
Five o’clock. I ordered two more books by Ayn Rand, but direct from the publisher rather than from Amazon. Free shipping. One title, The Voice of Reason, reminds me of a coworker I once knew named Raejean. I don’t know if she ever read the book, but I think it’s possible because she used the phrase to me in a conversation. She was kind of a Vulcan, but for a few years, so was I. I wore an engraved dog tag that said “Reason” around my neck. I had a little obsession with the idea of “practical reason,” a term I borrowed from Aristotle, for as long as I was working. I converted myself into a robot and worked my job for as many years as I could. The abstraction of Reason was my totem every day until it broke down. Maybe it would have kept going were it not for my growing addiction to alcohol. Being a machine was okay with me up to a point. But eventually I wanted my freedom of thought restored to me. Or maybe I only wanted to drink my life away? I wonder if I’ll ever want to be a robot again. While it lasted, being a cog in the machine wasn’t so bad. It gave me a paycheck every two weeks, and I had a vehicle to drive around. The best part of it was that I could eat all the fast food I wanted. I was a frequent flyer at Carl’s Jr. They had one burrito item, grilled chicken seasoned with cumin, that I was crazy about… Perhaps it was just the alcohol that sabotaged my working life. How can I prevent this from happening if I decide to work again?
Two thirty. Well the big day is over. I expected to see the old place the way it was twelve years ago, but reality proved me wrong to an extent. My good instinct about my new therapist was probably right. I think it’s a fit. Or maybe she appraised me even as we spoke and had me pegged. She told me she wasn’t a Twelve Stepper… and the conversation evolved to the theme of control. I don’t know if she thinks being a control freak is less than ideal, but she insisted that it wasn’t a bad thing. I don’t know; the longer I live, the more I can sum up new trends in a second. We are all just reeds in the wind anyway, singing a symphony to the breath of history. I could likely be a Hegelian and enjoy it. His lectures on the philosophy of history were published in German in 1805, predating Byron and Shelley (who also wrote about the process of history), but like the discovery of natural selection around 1860, the idea was in the air awaiting a voice. History and politics still work the same today, so Hegel was onto something important. I just wonder how long it will be before we figure out how to save ourselves from extinction. It may be a matter of hope and faith, of optimism, of love. At the salon this morning, K asserted that everything happens for a reason. She said that I wouldn’t have been able to afford the renovation of my house if the fire hadn’t happened. I find her Panglossian optimism useful if not accurate. Pragmatism states that if a belief works for you, then it is in some sense true. This itself is a belief that works for me.