Reset Forty, Day Forty
May. 18th, 2022 03:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphTuesday my bill got mailed, and I got some groceries. The stores didn't have everything I wanted, but there's enough stuff to get by on for a couple of weeks, though I'll probably try to get out to shop before that myself. I got nothing else done all day. Well, dinner, another sandwich. But there is orange juice and donuts again, and fresh bread. There has also been sneezing, and higher heat, and enough laundry for another load, if the machine is available and I remember it needs to be done. I didn't have to remember to bring the wheelie bin back from the street as one of the neighbors did it. The day was not catastrophic. I'm a bit surprised.
But I've still got low-grade headache, and have had a couple of spells when I almost lost my balance, almost certainly due to the aging o that fluid in my inner ear which keeps me from falling over. I forgot to put a couple of things on my shopping list. They can go on the next one. As I heard the mockingbird singing for a while after sunset, I guess he hasn't found mate after all. I've apparently just not been going outside at the right time in recent days.
I wish something would happen that I found really funny, as I'm starting to seriously bore myself. I'm also having bouts of nostalgia, which tends to make me sad. I used to rather enjoy a bit of sad nostalgia, but the fun has gone out of that. Recalling the childhood summer afternoons I spent looking out over my neighborhood from the hillside above Mooney Drive, or the late bus rides home from Hollywood through downtown in 1963, or the early, foggy winter mornings drinking coffee on the porch of one of the old bungalows at Pasadena City College, no longer evoke the same feelings they once did. The possibility of possibilities that once verged on meaning enough to make meaning possible have vanished like those winter fogs, those summer afternoons, the mobile lights of long silenced traffic on the nocturnal boulevards of Los Angeles. The words that could bring them back are also gone. There is only the restless near-quiet of the sleeping mini-metropolis, as empty as the air that no longer vibrates with the songs of the vanished mockingbird.
But I've still got low-grade headache, and have had a couple of spells when I almost lost my balance, almost certainly due to the aging o that fluid in my inner ear which keeps me from falling over. I forgot to put a couple of things on my shopping list. They can go on the next one. As I heard the mockingbird singing for a while after sunset, I guess he hasn't found mate after all. I've apparently just not been going outside at the right time in recent days.
I wish something would happen that I found really funny, as I'm starting to seriously bore myself. I'm also having bouts of nostalgia, which tends to make me sad. I used to rather enjoy a bit of sad nostalgia, but the fun has gone out of that. Recalling the childhood summer afternoons I spent looking out over my neighborhood from the hillside above Mooney Drive, or the late bus rides home from Hollywood through downtown in 1963, or the early, foggy winter mornings drinking coffee on the porch of one of the old bungalows at Pasadena City College, no longer evoke the same feelings they once did. The possibility of possibilities that once verged on meaning enough to make meaning possible have vanished like those winter fogs, those summer afternoons, the mobile lights of long silenced traffic on the nocturnal boulevards of Los Angeles. The words that could bring them back are also gone. There is only the restless near-quiet of the sleeping mini-metropolis, as empty as the air that no longer vibrates with the songs of the vanished mockingbird.
