In My Solitude

Everyone I know is traveling again.  My art/travel buddy is headed for France and then a few days in London.  C.C. is going to Paris.  My famous writer neighbor and two of my former colleagues just got back from NYC.  My tenant is leaving today for Minnesota.  We are on the heels of May.  I need to make some decisions.  May/June are pretty times for a roadtrip.  Everyone I know tells me I need to get out and move.  See something.  Have some fun.  

I know.  

I know. 

But. . . you know. . . who will take care of things?  And mom?

I think my friends see me as weak now.  They are vicious, rabid even, to point out my flaws, to paint them in blood.  My A.A. sponsor, for instance, has been incensed about my newest health report.  

"Didn't your doctor mention your drinking?"

You'd think that would be it, but "no" was not enough.  Mr. Knowitall has apparently gotten his degree as camp counselor as well.  

"Alcohol raises your blood pressure.  She didn't mention that?  Are you going to keep drinking?"

Some people are mad at my report because they are, they say, sicker than I.  

"Fuck you.  You should have what I have."

I sent an article to my old college roommate and his wife (link).  I thought I was preaching to the choir, but I got a quick right to the jaw when I said that often at the factory I was appalled by the performance of the theory. 

So, you mean when you insulted someone regarding sex/gender, you had a dreadful reaction to the objections of those insulted?

Whoa!   Guess someone has been waiting for an opportunity there.  "Not what I said," I replied, "but thank you for rewording it for me.  It reveals so much more."

I send things I think are funny to some and get back shitty replies.  My annual horrorscope tried to warn me, said this would not be a good year for my sign.  

So I hunker down.  I have fewer and fewer people on speed text.  

The gulf between us grows greater with time.  Those who live with family don't understand that at home, I don't get the chance to whine and complain as they do.  My A.A. sponsor doesn't have a blog.  He hasn't the chance to broadcast opinions and complaints to the entire planet as I do.  

But, you know. . . the Heard/Depp case makes you thank your lucky stars.  

Did you see yesterday's deposition, the Mexican guy sitting in his car and vaping himself practically unconscious?  It's right out of Cheech and Chong.  I about pissed myself watching.  

Really.  This shit is straight out of a movie.  Crazyville.  

Yesterday I made a Greek salad and roasted some beets.  I'd never roasted beets before.  It's easy, but they have to bake for an hour.  Don't get the juice on anything.  You can't get it out.  But sliced, salted, oiled, and sprinkled with goat cheese and topped with Balsamic glaze, it was awfully good.  I grilled three, ate one, gave one away, and will have the other today or tomorrow.  I will start grilling a bunch of them at a time.  I can refrigerate some and freeze the rest.  

You see?  Life at home is really awfully nice.  

But sometimes, I hear a thing and wonder. . . do you ever think of me?  

It's a question I never get to ask.