Inexplicable

Weather and environment: Misty black morning, the oak trees silhouetted against the blanched gray sky.  Me: yesterday's weird feeling toward the new year may have been a virus.  The cool sticky damp and a runny nose.  I am ill and discontent. 

New Year's Day was a blankness of gray, the streets deserted, depopulated.  I tried a walk downtown with my camera in the late afternoon.  Bums, rascals, and scoundrels, dirty sidewalks, dirty bars.  I didn't stay long.  It was not what I needed. 

I used to read blogs back when there were blogs, when it was a form.  Years ago.  One was by a guy in North Carolina.  He had been a college wrestler.  He wanted to be a photographer, so his posts were pictures and words.  He was quite depressed almost all the time.  He was struggling.  The pictures were pretty good, but the constant agony of his psyche wore me out.  He wasn't a friendly guy.

I read another by a woman who was all sunshine.  She was a good writer, but all that positivity wore me out, too. 

Both blogs are long gone. 

I don't want to be the first blog, and I can't be the second.  Both were dailies, though, and it gets very hard to not record moods.  There is no editing a daily blog.  If you could let it sit a week or two, you might change everything. 

I want a day in bed, but the house repairman comes soon.  I hate it. 

My mother expected me for dinner last night.  I have become that.  My life seems less and less my own, what little of it I have.  Had I not gone, though, I would have done nothing else.  I made her watch the Rose Bowl.  She asked questions like, "What does second and five mean?" and "Does FSU hold THE record [emphasis mine]?"  Still, she got the idea that one team was getting a beat down. 

Afterwards, I came home to sit blankly.  I watched the first half of the Sugar Bowl because I didn't know what else to do, then I went to bed to read about religions.  People want mysteries for without them there is only the tone dial of existence.  I don't mean that there isn't art or science, but for most those things are too complicated.  The inexplicable requires such little work. 

And there is the other thing, too, that people desire, and it is inexplicable as well. 

“I am a lover and have not found my thing to love. That is a big point if you know enough to realize what I mean. It makes my destruction inevitable, you see. There are few who understand that.” 
― Sherwood Anderson, Winesburg, Ohio