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Monday, Jun. 14, 2004 / 6:50 p.m. ~On Feeling Immortal and Squeezing From the Day~ I was driving home from work tonight, on the highway, about 70 mph, thinking that I felt immortal, and that surely we all must feel immortal when healthy and well. Knowing full well that at any moment a car could veer into ours, or a tractor trailer could jackknife up ahead, we might have to slam on our brakes, and the cars behind us might not have time. We could any of us die in any instant, but in any given moment not one thinks of his or her death. So it is I would now like to live forever. Or in that moment I felt I wanted that immortality. Gladys is lying on the new 'sand chair' I bought over the weekend, acting as though the purchase was entirely with her in mind, and I now hate to think I'll be taking it to a movie in the park in just a week and half. It fits here so perfectly, and she upon it. I took pictures. The canvas is blue and her coat stands out on it like it was made for her. She feels well now, even ran around like I haven't seen her do in such a long time, ran around crazy running around, that post-visit to the litter box running around thing that cats do. And this morning, on my way out the door, she ran up to me with her emery board in her mouth, all sandpaper long removed, just stick, like popsicle stick, dropped it for me at the front door. And people ask about her, at work, "How's Gladys?", they say. And I tell them she's up and she's down, but she's better than she was before. I visited with an old friend this weekend, and drank wine, Sauvignon Blanc, and shopped for canned cat food, and let my wet hair dry at highway speeds, windows down, hot 93 degree air hot all around, but cool with the hair. I joked I should wet it every time I go to get in the car. Just visit people and hop in and out of showers all along the way. Or just dunk my head under faucets around town. This reminds me of one time swimming at Hermione's grandma's pool, and when I got too hot how I would lean over, dunk my short hair into the pool, soak it and flip it back behind me. Do it again each time it threatened to dry. In the intense heat of a Georgia summer it cooled me. Now is rain, or threat of rain, and last night it rained so hard I thought it would never stop, I wondered how it could rain so hard, what makes it rain quite so hard, what dynamics are involved, what are the scientific formulae, what causes it, how, why, what? Hard, HARD, HARD, HARD, then softer, softer, then HARDER, HARDER, like it would never stop the vicious cycle. Today the ground looks like Alfalfa's hair, all plastered, with maybe just a bit sticking up in the back where his cowlick is. Everything is sort of smooshed and flattened, all the plants I'd worried were too dry now too wet. And we're getting more, more, more. I love the sound of it, and the thunder with no lightning, it seems safer that way. My coworker brought me some garlic-stuffed olives from her day trip up north on Sunday. A woman after my own heart. I now have four jars in my fridge, two different varieties. And Rachael Ray made a garlic-infused oil on her Food Network show tonight, made a rotisserie chicken salad, with curried yogurt sauce, and I took mental notes, remarked how easy it would be, all the while eating my guacamole Doritos, slowly losing the appetite I'd had to start. This could be the end of my day, right here and now, but I'll get a second wind, I feel, and squeeze as much as I can from what's left. Cost of the War in Iraq
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