Cryin' out loud, so much goes on that I can't keep up. Where to start?
First, the no-news bits. There's been nothing said about the guy who got himself arrested to get his medical problems addressed. Greg's angel pendant still eludes me. We still haven't straightened out the soup kitchen's larder. And I still haven't finished the book- which is my own damn fault.
Then the real news- The ongoing mindblowing breadth of the Murdoch empire scandal, which gets more Holy Shit!-like everyday. And as I was hoping, Jon Stewart came through:
And the insanity of Washington DC, where the Repos won't let the rich be taxed and are threatening to let the whole country default to make their toddler tantrum complete. Assholes, all of them. I hope Obama doesn't cave. It's a game of nerves. I'm sick of Republicans, especially Boehner (BONER!). As an old lady I knew used to say, "I'd like to slap his face!"
Troubles have come back to Belfast. Israel and Palestine continue hating each other. The Arab Spring continues with all the birthing labor it takes. I find myself having the same eyebrows- raised- glazed- eyes- of- world-weariness look my Father wore while reading the news in the morning. Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose.
The last few days I've been thinking through how best to deal with pain. Ignoring it does indeed work, but it's the limitations that are created by it that can drag you down. I won't bore you.
The summer reading goes on, but I've made myself go back to one at a time. My gods, the Oscar Wilde bio by Richard Ellmann was heartbreaking. Brave New World induced a low-level anxiety that strangely edified me. When Stephen Fry's Moab is My Washpot arrived, I threw all the others over to plow through his autobiography, part one. Fantastic, and as he is always, brave. Then I abruptly and unfairly turned to Russell Brand's My Booky Wook. Quite a change of head there. I'm not done reading it. Brand isn't everyone's cup of tea, but his honesty is quite flooring. Honesty and bravery make up for a lot of faults. Not sure they have to always go together, but it's good when they do. I have 6 books with bookmarks in them, waiting my return. And Fry's second autobiography on its way.
My family is well. My friends who need to heal are coping and slowly mending. At the moment there are no fresh hells going on that I'm aware of, anyway. I am concerned about Rory, who's been having physical problems and has been unusually silent. I hope he's okay. And I'm kinda pissed that someone has apparently lost a piece of artwork I mailed out. Art is a bit of your soul, and careless disregard of it hurts. I worked very hard on that piece during my detox. It meant something to me. Ah well, you live and learn, as they say. The heat is more tolerable today, not nearly as awful as it has been. I have food and drink, I have a home, I have people I love. I have little to be unhappy about.
The Door Is Ajar.
6 days ago