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Listening to the rain is almost as good as listening to a cat purr. Earlier, there was even a bit of thunder, accompanied by another hailstorm. It's almost cold enough to snow tonight! Since the lowest temperature comes in the hour before dawn, I wouldn't be surprised to see a light dusting. Every time the rain slows, I go to the window to see if it has already turned to silent flakes, but so far it hasn't. If it does, it will be the earliest that snow has fallen here in the seventeen years I've lived in this place. Most of the leaves are still on the trees. Even without snow, this is already the strangest of autumns, befitting this strangest of years.
I've been wondering when, or if, my brain will go back to normal. For the last couple of months, everything has been off kilter. I no longer see things the way I used to. I no longer do things at the same time I used to. The disruptions which I've had to deal with recently have left me with a sense of displacement, and I have no idea what to do about it. I feel less connection with the concrete world, and find myself constantly fretting with the abstractions in my head. I want out of my head, but can't find the way.
I hear a jet passing overhead, and briefly mistake the sound for a distant peal of thunder. It is only one of the early morning flights out of Sacramento or San Francisco, most likely. I'm dimly aware of those cities out there, as though their dense presence tugged slightly on my consciousness as stars tug on their planets. Beyond them, I feel the more distant but stronger tug of Los Angeles. Still, I remain adrift in this backwater. Perhaps some day the attraction will pull me away, once those things that weigh me down and keep me here no longer do. The truth is, I am not rooted in this place. I have always found it difficult to maintain a connection to its reality. Only the landscape truly pleases me, and there are other landscapes which please me more. I think that my recent malaise comes in part from the feeling that I have exhausted the possibilities of the location. I find it difficult to maintain a connection to concrete reality because the reality I inhabit offers too little to which I want to be connected. I am gradually losing the long struggle to tolerate this isolation. Only habit and ritual have allowed me to maintain that tolerance thus far. Now that they have been disrupted, I am rapidly losing patience with my situation.
Ah, enough of this maundering about frustration. I have no idea what I'm going to do. What could be duller? I'm just going to work on going into denial. Denial is without limits! In that marvelous state, I can do whatever I want. Right now, I want to shut up and go to sleep.
PS -- I hope that everyone had a nice Day of the Dead yesterday. I didn't see any Dead, myself. They probably don't come here. It's duller than the grave.
I've been wondering when, or if, my brain will go back to normal. For the last couple of months, everything has been off kilter. I no longer see things the way I used to. I no longer do things at the same time I used to. The disruptions which I've had to deal with recently have left me with a sense of displacement, and I have no idea what to do about it. I feel less connection with the concrete world, and find myself constantly fretting with the abstractions in my head. I want out of my head, but can't find the way.
I hear a jet passing overhead, and briefly mistake the sound for a distant peal of thunder. It is only one of the early morning flights out of Sacramento or San Francisco, most likely. I'm dimly aware of those cities out there, as though their dense presence tugged slightly on my consciousness as stars tug on their planets. Beyond them, I feel the more distant but stronger tug of Los Angeles. Still, I remain adrift in this backwater. Perhaps some day the attraction will pull me away, once those things that weigh me down and keep me here no longer do. The truth is, I am not rooted in this place. I have always found it difficult to maintain a connection to its reality. Only the landscape truly pleases me, and there are other landscapes which please me more. I think that my recent malaise comes in part from the feeling that I have exhausted the possibilities of the location. I find it difficult to maintain a connection to concrete reality because the reality I inhabit offers too little to which I want to be connected. I am gradually losing the long struggle to tolerate this isolation. Only habit and ritual have allowed me to maintain that tolerance thus far. Now that they have been disrupted, I am rapidly losing patience with my situation.
Ah, enough of this maundering about frustration. I have no idea what I'm going to do. What could be duller? I'm just going to work on going into denial. Denial is without limits! In that marvelous state, I can do whatever I want. Right now, I want to shut up and go to sleep.
PS -- I hope that everyone had a nice Day of the Dead yesterday. I didn't see any Dead, myself. They probably don't come here. It's duller than the grave.
