Jan. 14th, 2017


Jan. 14th, 2017 11:11 am
monk222: (Default)
Odd. I was looking back in my LJ archive for entries on the cat's neutering and spading, and their staying in the house. I was trying to verify some information that I had written in a subsequent journal entry, and I am surprised how sparse my LJ is on journal entries at that time, maybe a dozen entries for that whole September of 2009. It appears that I did not write one journal entry on that relatively major episode - with the spading/neutering, the cats' first time in the house, the way they played with the little toys we got for them, the litter box. How is that possible? Then it occurred to me that I might have gone back to Blurty to blog about my personal home life, but then I saw that I didn't do that until months later. And this was also well before I settled at Dreamwidth. I am at a loss. Maybe I was suffering a real depression. Maybe it was the trauma of Willy's death. ... ... Dramatis Mea posted about the guy she was excited about blowing her off, the promising affair that motivated her to take blogging back up in the first place. I commented: "How are you doing otherwise in the social department? Do you have some friends to go out with and do fun stuff sometimes, friends to really talk with? Sometimes I wonder if the Internet has also made a lot more people pretty lonely, that this great facility that makes connecting easier has actually made it harder to truly connect, unless you are young and hot and cool, and it's easier to just re-tweet or to 'like'." I probably should have just scrolled on by. There is zero chance that we will become blogging pals. She cannot respect my lifestyle of 'the adult child forever'. No one really could. Throw in the rape-pornography, and I'll be lucky if the cops aren't called. For a while back then, I thought that maybe I was going to be able to get away with it: I'm so smart and an interesting writer, and we are only talking about an online relationship: it's not as though you have to sit across from me at a restaurant table, much less let me fuck you. But that was a flukey occurrence, and if you throw in old age into the deplorable mix of my being, then I shouldn't even be commenting and trying to communicate with real people getting on with their lives. I must make do with lurking where I can, grabbing choice quotations, and simply journaling away to my heart's content. ... She answered back, in part, with this: "I think you are quite right about the internet making people lonely. I have found myself feeling that way lately, in fact I even found a place online last week where you can just talk to a stranger and vent. Pretty sad huh? ha ha ha." You see, that is the way I think the old journaling communities were like. We were communities of people who are relatively strangers who shared as much as one wanted to share. We lived in different regions, in different countries, and we became e-friends talking about our real lives. We could talk more openly and intimately with each other than we could with family and lovers in our real lives. But, again, e-life and real life effectively merged over time, with the Internet becoming just an upgraded phone, and the rules of real life prevailed: rich, attractive people do not talk with poor, homely people. And so I was marginalized again, the ogre pushed back into his cave. ... ... "Human Rights Watch on Thursday released its annual report on threats to human rights around the world, and for the first time in the 27 years it has done these surveys, the United States is one of the biggest. The reason: the rise of Donald J. Trump." [NYT] ... ... My puzzle came in. "Old Book Store" by Steve Crisp. A White Mountain puzzle. I have been eager for it, feeling a little confident after my success with the Halloween puzzle. I just opened the box about fifteen minutes ago to begin work, and I am surprised how cowed I feel fumbling through the first few pieces. I feel like I am back to having to learn how to walk again. I remember when I first got the other one and ended up storing it away in the closet within the first hour. I kind of feel that same sense of hopelessness now. To think that I was actually feeling pretty confident, despite the fact that this puzzle has twice as many pieces as the Halloween one. This is a thousand-piece baby. I don't expect to be tossing this into the closet in abject failure this evening, but I am taking some deep breaths, realizing that this is going to be a real trial of endurance with a lot of long lulls of frustration. It's going to take awhile, I fear, just to get a true 'start' going. My mind-set is that I will be able to solve it, but I am more than a little nervous about it. ... ... Sugar: "Somewhere down on the street, in the snow, out of my sight, a child just yelled "Mommy, I love you." And just like that, I feel alright." I wish she were doing some real blogging, publicly so that I can read along. I must make do with the occasional tweet. ... ... Sugar: "Why is everyone surprised that I freakin' adore Blue Rodeo." That is a band. She is going to their concert tonight. I am reminded of my personal differences not just with Sugar but with the mainstream folks in general. Even if I were rich and handsome and accepted, I would never care to spend such time at a pop music show, not even if Elvis was still alive and young. At best, I might go to the symphony to hear some choice pieces, where the music is piercingly clear as well as sublime. Pop music at concerts in particular is just loud discordant noise. I cannot help thinking that it is more about being in that atmosphere rather then to truly enjoy the music. More critically, of course, is the factor of sociability. Even as a more attractive person, I think I would lack that grace in any high degree, whereas Sugar obviously shines in it, even hungering for it, I imagine, drinking in the wild vibes of the crowd, like light from the sun. Everyone needs some of that, and part of my suffering must be due to a deficiency in that, but I wouldn't look for it in a pop concert. ... ... Maureen Dowd's column this week is on Judd Apatow, who once said that the funnier candidate tends to win the presidency, so that he was not particularly surprised by Trump's victory: “I said it as a joke, but I think there’s something to it. Reagan was funny. Bill Clinton was funny. Bush was funnier than Gore. Obama was funnier than probably anybody who’s ever run for office ... [and although he] has a demented sense of humor, Trump is way funnier than Hillary Clinton.” [NYT] ... ... I am glad I checked the weather before letting the cats back out. We are supposed to be in for a stormy night. I was a little worried when, during the close of the football game, there was a tornado warning for an area not terrible far from here. And the winds are kicking up.


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