I don't notice those things anymore.
This morning even before my feet hit the floor, a serious conversation, one I felt I handled poorly.
Today the kiddies are back from spring break. I was busy. 200+ unopened emails, a full voicemailbox, everybody needing something, everybody needing my time. For each email I sent, two more appeared, hydra-like in my inbox to take it's place. But I left work midday to spend my time with the amnemonic chiropractor. I almost threw out my back last night and was in some pain.
In general life is good though, the weather is beautifulish, but the past weighs heavy on my mind today. We picture ourselves on a timeline, facing forward, facing the future, with our backs to the past. But when I read Pirsig back in '88, he suggested the reverse is actually more accurate. He said the ancient Greeks saw the future as coming up on us blindly from behind our backs, that all we're able to see is the ever-accumulating past, receding before our eyes...
Thursday was my Rialto gig. While I was on stage, somebody stole my leather bag, and my checkbook along with it. They threw the rest of my things into a garbage bin in the Rialto men's room: two books - Thought as a System by Bohm and Notes of Jane Heap, the program from my cousin's funeral service, and some GSU work, all of it in the trash. This was a violation.
I saw Mark on Saturday. We drank the Don Julio he'd brought with him and talked and caught up and worked and made plans.
Josh and I have begun talking about going to Europe this summer, maybe over my birthday. I'm feeling some wanderlust. Amsterdam, maybe Prague. It's possible markandwanda may join.
Lily texted me earlier. She got in a car accident. Apparently "some bitch" hit her from behind. She's alright, but she banged her nose up pretty bad, though from her description it doesn't sound broken.
~~~~~~~
My new neighbor moved in. Lilian, the woman who used to live in back of the Nunnery, moved out a few weeks ago and a new guy moved in with his girlfriend and, strangely, their handyman. That little studio space is barely big enough for one person, let alone three. And they're loud.
I met him walking back from the market sometime last week. He was sitting on the side of the road, on a rock, homeless-style, and looking for all the world like Harry Dean Stanton on a bad day. He's 60 but I swear to god he looks a raggedy 75. Here's how our meeting went:
Sabitathica: Hey, are you alright?
Harry Dean Stanton: No.
Sabitathica: Oh. Okay. So... do you need help?
HDS: No. I'm only walking home. I just moved in up the street. But I've got a bad heart and I can only walk a little at a time. I need to rest here for a few minutes.
Sabitathica: Oh. So... which house did you move into?
HDS: [pause] Are you Sabitathica?
Sabitathica: Um, yeah... Are you my new neighbor?
HDS: Harry Dean Stanton. Nice to meet you.
Sabitathica: Yeah. [we shake hands.]
HDS: Do you teetotal?
Sabitathica: You're asking...? Seriously? No. No I don't.
HDS: That's good. I live with my girlfriend. I don't like the word "girlfriend" though. I'm going to ask you a favor.
Sabitathica: [sigh] Yeah...
HDS: Just for a little while, you might hear some commotion, some yelling and some noise and whatnot. My girlfriend's still getting used to the transition. Just give her a few weeks to calm down. I don't really like the word "girlfriend".
Sabitathica: What? Wait a minute... What are you talking about?
HDS: Just for the first few weeks. She's not well...
Sabitathica: [pause] What's the matter with her?
HDS: She's not well.
Sabitathica: Oh.
This was a few days before I learned the handyman was living with them too. They drink all the time, all three of them. These are serious drinkers - serious drunks, really. Alcohol has left it's unmistakable mark on their faces. I've met all of them now, and they actually all look a little like Harry Dean Stanton, with the handyman taking the lead on that front and edging out the other two. And they scream at each other too, all the time. Loud, drunken incoherent yelling.
Good times, good times.
