Seven o’clock.

A hole in the clouds shows the sky luminous white prior to the sunrise. I observed a planet low on the horizon, probably Venus, the morning star. The path to the store in some places was unlit and I couldn’t see the pavement under my feet, so it was by guess and by God. An airline jet crosses above my head just now. My dog Aesop has very sophisticated moods for a canine, possibly sensing what’s wrong in the world. I don’t know. Suk managed the market this morning. He gave me a discount on the macaroni salad because it was a day past its expiry. Neither of us sleeps as well as we used to. While a lugubrious piece of music by Burt Bacharach blasts in my ear, I acknowledge my regrets for the woman I once knew. Renaissance thinkers believed that memory was placed in the back of the head because you were looking backward. Another bit of useless trivia… It might be a long day. I didn’t care for the last phone conversation with my sister. I’ll probably avoid her until she finally calls me. Now the birds and squirrels have woken up. They have no concept of good and evil beyond eating and surviving to reproduce— unlike my dog, who growled when I asked him last night if he thought I was a bad person. I think I guessed his thoughts. 


Do unto Others…

Eight ten.

Something on the periphery of my mind is bugging me, and I think it’s a feeling of guilt, whether or not it’s appropriate. Also I’m a little worried about her because she hasn’t posted anything in a long time… It is another cloudy and temperate morning. The walk to the convenience store was uneventful except for something Heather said. She expected that I would razz her for the “open” sign not being turned on, but this time I hadn’t even looked at it. But it makes me think about what I’ve been doing with people lately, perhaps being too critical of them. No doubt I will make more of my own mistakes, and nobody’s perfect. It feels good when we can shine. It feels bad when we fall short. I tend to challenge the idea from cognitive therapy that no one causes others to feel a certain way. It strikes me as baloney. We have to take some responsibility for the feelings of other people, and try to encourage them rather than cut them down. This is simple common sense. It may be emotional caretaking but it is what it is.

Some people call it the Golden Rule. 

Therapy and Me

Six thirty. I should analyze what went wrong today. Why was I thinking I was gay? I have a Platonic impulse and an Aristotelian. Plato is deeper, I believe. He is round, Aristotle flat. But Aristotle is proud and upright. There must be something in my past influencing my present. It’s been a weird day ever since I got up this morning. I only know that I had physical therapy yesterday, and probably something about it set off queer thoughts today. Time will tell why. Maybe some of the exercises Erin put me through suggested sexual stuff to my mind, even humiliating things. And no, I don’t think I like it, even if it’s just me. One more session, I reckon, then I’ll discontinue the program. Physical therapy is not my kind of thing.

Eight o’clock. I wonder what gives me such a strong attitude of pride, and why is it often wounded? I hate being put in a compromised position by anyone else. A position may be literal or figurative, physical or mental. I hate to be degraded or demeaned by people or situations, likely as a result of abuse somewhere in my past. And it’s awfully easy for new people to come along and abuse me even more. I’m just not the type for therapy for that reason. I’m more inclined to go off by myself and lick my own hurts…