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Thursday, Jul. 01, 2004 / 10:06 p.m. ~Ah, But It's Neither Here, Nor Is It There~ Did I mention the bigger needle I used last night, and how the fluids leaked out of the hole because it was so big? Or how she doesn't seem better for them, the fluids, this time? She's just okay, peeing her cow patties in the litter box, huge wet clumps so hard to scoop and the trash is so heavy with it all, I need to buy some of those heavy duty heavy load garbage bags, Hefty, Hefty heavy bags. Another movie in the park, we assumed it would rain. He asks, "What do they say in the weather report, what does the weather report say, what do 'they' say?", and I say, "There is really no way to know which clouds will open up and rain down upon us and which will not, we are still only human and there is really no way to know, you know", and so we do not go. I felt some disappointment, as I'd had to prep myself psychologically to motivate. I'd had to have an internal pep talk, and then I had to let me down easy. I'm glad I stayed home. I hear a loud chorus of crickets outside, those I used to call 'cicadas' before hearing of their 17 year hiatus and return to the world of the living, above ground. Had I been misnaming them all along? That sound is summer, pure hot, humid, sultry Southern summer nights, camping, or in a cabin with TV inside and glow of it out through windows, bugs and clicking and legs rubbing together to emit sounds that comfort and annoy simultaneously, and bowls of freshly picked wild berries nearby on old wooden tables. I have old fruit in the fridge, and no desire to wash and cut and lick juice off fingers. Trash that smells, like something dead is in it, and not just the cow patties of urine soaked clump litter, but something I can't remember, but put my nose down in it to smell, and came up saying, yes, it smells like something dead. Still not sure. Today is my Friday, the work week so ingrained, the Monday to Friday thing so a part of my life, sharing with the one who gives fruit, today, of how my life started, the twenties spent in retirement, and why, and the subsequent search for gainful employment and the stuckness of it now. The having to do it now, the backwards nature of the way it's turned out. "Will anyone else die and leave you money? Are you sure?", she asks. No, no, that's it, that's why I play the lottery with such fervor, for I've had the billion to one chance, and I've been struck by lightning, I know the odds and I've outsmarted them, I've cheated them, I've beaten them, things have happened, but my life is not better for them. I need to feed them again, the cats, and the smell of their food makes me feel ill, smelling it. I hate the new ritual, and I wonder if she is better for it. Are any of us better for any of it? And first thing this morning I thought of death again, and I was absolutely terrified of the concept of not being alive, as it is something totally foreign and unknown. What can it possibly be like to be not of a corporeal being, to be but atoms floating in the cosmos, or molecules dispersed, nothingness, to no longer 'be'? What can this be like? What senses to know it, to grasp its meaning? Impossible. There one minute, not the next. Breathing, then not. Alive, then dead. First thing I thought of this, washing my face, not first thing first thing, but almost. First thing was, oh, I'm tired, I'm so very tired, what a strange dream, I'm so tired, can I call in sick?, no, not the day before my five day vacation, no, but I am so very tired. Second or third or fourth thing, washing my face, huh, wonder what it's like to be dead, I'm going to die, we're all going to die, one day we will all be dead, and then what? Then what? Being here now I realize it's neither here nor there. And why no good movies on the cable on a Friday night? Could it be because this is Thursday still? Confusion has stepped in and sat upon the easy chair in my mind and made itself at home, popped a cold one and grabbed for the remote. Cost of the War in Iraq
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