I'm the sort of person who goes to the doctor certain he'll (or she'll...but that was my marvelous Dr. Isselbacher who is now a concierge doctor who I simply can't afford) find something disastrous wrong with me. I've been this way for 100 years, but realistically I'm getting closer to the time when it will really happen, no fooling. So all that practice wasn't worth it.
And maybe it's worse because soon after Joe died, in the last two weeks, two women I know have become widows. Both had exemplary marriages, each has no regrets about the past, the strength and pleasure of the relationship, or about the medical care. Both are grieving, naturally, but with the sense of how much they were allowed to share, experience, build with their husbands. And that's quite wonderful. Very remarkable. To be celebrated.
So, the last two weeks have felt oppressive, though I have participated in the filming of Paisley and somebody, a new production by the folks downstairs, Chris and Krissy, that concerns a crazy brother and sister, and their harsh mother (guess who plays that part), limping in snow, clay figures, dancing and smashing.
And I have produced a less-than-three-minute video that involved smashing all the clay boxes I made a year or so ago...Krissy did the hammering and I did the video with a over-text that says, Projects Are Never Ever As Satisfying As This.
I am almost done with my taxes.
And survived the teeth cleaning and the X-rays that proved, to the amazement of Lyn, my grand hygenist, and me, that there is bone left and even though I've ground down one front tooth to almost nothing, my front teeth are not in eminent danger of me losing one. Whew.
And lived through my second Workshop class. Though we have this Monday off, hard with a once-a-week-class.
We didn't get the major snowstorm in spite of being excited into fear by all the weathermen (women) advertising it.
I've seen three movies with my friends, Lorna and Warren, who have On-Demand! One was a quite dreadful cop thing with James Wood and Brian Dennehy, (Wood looked at mean as he always does, playing a hit man, his gorgeously ugly face, and Dennehy looked as if he could hardly breathe from too much food, but was his comforting self) that I really liked, and Warren didn't seem to mind, though I think Lorna suffered through it. (We had allowed ourselves ten or twenty minutes to see if it was worth it and I kept hoping they wouldn't notice the passage of time because I adore crap movies.) And the other two were both Kill Bills, that Lorna certainly didn't like, oh, no, why's she doing that?, though both Warren and I appreciated for the correographed violence.... I think I'm going to have to suffer through a comedy for the sake of Lorna, a willing, but not easy sacrifice.
And saw "44 Inch Chest", a British film with Ian McShane, my pinup, such a gorgeous, smarmy man, among others in this extremely funny, foul-mouthed comedy (I think) about love, marriage, grief, rage and the insane friendship of men. It was fantastic. Two of us, the man five rows down and me, in the mainly empty theatre, laughed frequently. If Lorna would consider a film like that comedy, I'd be happy, but it involved beating and the threat of murdering along the way.
And read "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks."
And am going to quit the Spanish class that's today at 1:00 since I think that's one thing too many. Besides, I have no room in my brain for anything else and I don't 'hear' languages well.
I filled out the form and took my $25 check in in the hope that I will get a plot in the community garden.
And sometime I'll open the box that came in the mail a week ago, with "The Real Story" in it, my 25 copies of my first chapbook. I can't face them. Or send out the copies I should send out.
At the bank, I was so shocked that my savings account had been turned into an interest bearing checking account without my knowing, "How much interest does it pay?" "Oh, about the same." that I couldn't remember my social security number for the first time in my life! I hope that's not a sign that I'm disintegrating.
And I got to the Y to sign up and had left my checkbook on the living room floor after paying bills.
Anyway, my apologies. I haven't been reading or writing blogs. I've been muddling along with the mugs who you'll see at the top of this post. Bogie, my main man, needed a bath because he had stuck poop. He hates baths. And Tulip, the new gal, did something dreadful. And Happy, my daughter's dog, is always in your face, wanting, wanting, wanting, needing, yes, me, me, me.
Chris's line is, "The earth is in very delicate balance."