Flying Leaps

Good morning, everybody!

I hope that it's all going nicely today. It's Thursday, which always amazes me because, with a twinge of synaethesia, I always think of days like today feels. It's a color like this: 

Now, lest anyone think that Thursday's perceived liaison with this color is a complaint, I can assure you that it is not. It’s distinctive. The sun may be visible on days like this, but it’s not terribly relevant.

So, I started this bit of writing for the blog yestereve, and it went on for hours, but I realized after a time that I likely had other things to do, and I was getting a bit worked up about my subject (about redneck America and the blight of our economic and cultural imperialism and the disgusting depths of our respective and collective sanctimony and how the paradigm of scarcity cripples imagination in worse ways than we’re no longer capable of imagining), typing rapidly and incorrectly, holding my breath through entire sentences (though not this one, thank goodness, because I’d’ve lost consciousness by now) and feeling very motivated, entering something of a self-imposed exile, when Molly came to see me, at which I saved my nearly completed post and we ate berries and talked past midnight until we started to fall asleep and I love her more constantly and I awoke this morning and approached my post to finish it but it was a snarling and seething blob of invective in which I was just getting ready to give those Baby Boomers a piece of my mind and when I remembered:

I quit smoking (for like the bazillionth time) yesterday. Ugh.

No wonder consumerist conformity pisses me off to an unmanageable extent!

I had almost 8 years of being quit, but not really, because I was a social smoker. So, I’m sad that I lost my mock-control of my ongoing low-level nicotine fit.

And I can’t be placated, which is sorrowful, because I’d like to take a placation (NEW WORD ALERT).

Oh, and this is good, and it pertains to the strident post of last night that did not tumble into public view: I’m going to post some writing (later today) that I did (back in 1999) about the town in which I lived as a child (Frederick, Maryland). (Sorry about all of the parentheses. I’m disorganized.)

MY MIND IS CHAFING,

WHICH MEANS THAT I SHOULD

WALK AROUND THE NEIGHBORHOOD

AND BREATHE DEEPLY. AIR ONLY.

THAT’S WHAT THE EXPERTS ALL SAY THAT

PEOPLE IN MY SITUATION OUGHT TO DO,

BUT THEY CAN TAKE A FLYING LEAP.

I WISH THAT I COULD TAKE A FLYING LEAP.

THAT’S WHAT I’LL DO; I SHALL PRETEND THAT

I AM ON AN AIRPLANE, AND THAT I AM GOING

TO VISIT THE MALDIVES. THE INDIAN OCEAN IS

FASCINATING! I WILL GO TO SRI LANKA, TOO.

AND OTHER PLACES AFTER THAT.

Adjective Old Year

Plerase note here that nobody says, "Happy Old Year." On the day of New Year's Eve, I wonder why they give up so easily in considering this ever-scarcer 2011 to be entirely spent. Today, it would be just like saying, "Have a good one," which is hardly outside of the bell curve.

I would suggest that it is nothing short of foolhardy to look only a little bit ahead with such faux-rabidity. Holy crap. Why not just kiss each other now instead of waiting for Dick Clark or Anderson Cooper to administer the go ahead? You can always kiss each other later--you'll be just as special later on.

Gosh, and think even farther ahead to Monday, or whenever people return to work, feeling both wistful and daunted and still dating things with '2011' by accident: is that actually thrilling?

So, all that I'm trying to say is that the future might be exciting, but let's face it: so is THE PRESENT, except the present boasts the additional distinction of being here NOW. But happiness and love to you and yours, in both this old year and the one that is nearly nigh.

Adjustments: Undue Homework

In "preparation" for twenty twelve (whose name I'd write numerically, were its sequence of numbers not so, you know, counterintuitive, which is to say nearly nothing per the stunted force inside of me believes that unabbreviated living will somehow lead to a life of unfathomable bounty in tender of tremendous importance that is not necessarily negotiable), and amid chronic financial emergency, I have been inspired to review all sorts of "material," shocked to understand at last and at length how very little of it is actually tangible. In a year of precipitous peaks and troughs, I see their collective occurrence as having been dictated and defined by forces and systems of human construction.The weight of this reflection, and the futile hilarity of its implications, feels rather like trying to speak, yet emitting the sound of an activated whoopee cushion in lieu of a voice.

(time elapsed)

It must be stated at this point that I have yet to determine the structure and/or frequency of these posts. It's very clear, during the tumult of the season, that we have to give ourselves over to cleaning; there seems to be little choice by now. I guess that it's sensible to do this, but more significantly, it might keep people from injuring themselves on pernicious obstructions that masqueraded once as "gifts." While it's unfair to inflict attributions of motive upon inanimate things  (as if I know, for instance, that those legos on the floor want to cause pain to my bare feet), I don't think that I care any longer whose interests are at stake.

(time elapsed)

what a fizzlefest cleaning has been! hell if the rooms that i "tidied" are not substantially less navigable than the rooms to which others attended.

certain close associates think that multiple sclerosis has eroded my executive function, and they should be right, but i think that it's more my un(der)developed sense of personal boundaries that has done me in at every turn. it's how come stress acts as a toxin to my body, how come i'm challenged to request compensation for my work, and how come i'm reluctant, despite what most people think, to admit what it is that want. i smell a resolution approaching; i am replete with vague, ominous nausea.

i think that i'll go and prepare for New Year's Eve by ending New Year's Eve Eve.