October 2002 Archives

If a picture is worth a thousand words then what in good Gods name is this one saying from Halloween 1995?

Ummm. Don't judge a book by its cover?

Or... Girls Just Wanna Have Fun...even when they happen to be a bunch of boys?

Or...how much alcohol does one have to consume in order to have this much fun? (I will tell you later...maybe).

Or...thank God this only happens once in a very blue moon and that there is only one blue moon every one hundred years or so?

Or, lighten up you tight ass homophobic types out there that are all embarrassed and shit like that?

Get a grip?

Go a little easy on the Paxil?

Or, I may be smiling my face off but what I am actually thinking is what kind of a misogynous asshole pithead invented stilettos?

Or, how strange is it to be dressing up in women's clothing with one of the original founders of the Second Cup, Tom C. (to the right of thatgirl) and Tom's partner Paul (to the left of thatgirl) ...and then to be walking south on Wellesley towards Church in a miniskirt and toenail crushing stilettos that make extreme forms of torture seem like a reasonable alternative.

Actually, I come to the point of my article. It is my recommendation that all men, and I mean ALL MEN, not just the gay guys, and especially the heavy set guys, should be forced to wear three inch stilettos with pointed toes and then made to walk up and down a concrete sidewalk for five minutes...just five minutes. This would give them, as it did thatgirl, a much needed education about what women are really capable of. Ok? I would even venture to say that one probably doesn't know the first thing about women until one has experienced this astonishing pleasure. I am thinking of opening up a stiletto workshop for men. What do you think? Good ya?

Well, so...if you think you are a real man...tonight is Halloween...and I dare you to put on a wig, some long fingernails that make real life utterly impossible, a miniskirt that is so mini that the birds are flying south, some make up...fuck that...lots and lots of make up and glue-on eyelashes...and then to utterly complete this experience, some three inch stiletto high heels and some vigorous walking on cement or pavement, that will give you a new and refreshed outlook on life. You will at last know what it means to be a real man.

Now girls...I want you to get your husbands and boyfriends to sign up for this essential, mind-altering workshop!

So, a new days begins.

P.S. Thanks Mona for this wig-flipping experience and stuff like that!

Other than the fact that it feels as though I have a box of wheel weights sitting on my face, I am just thrilled. Barbara gave me a great tip yesterday; she proposed the idea of keeping a headache journal. Now that would be an interesting read.

Headache Journal

August 15, 2002
Auch…I’ve had a headache for two and a half weeks now. Feels like it may be a sinus thing.

NOT!

End of Headache Journal

As I said, an absolutely enthralling read. Thanks Barbara for the nifty tip, I feel oodles better already, really I do. Is there a specialist in the house?

What about an embalming…should I go there? Apparently it stops everything dead in its tracks. It seems as though a person might have to die now in order to get effective health care later.

Ok, enough pandemonium for one morning, besides, you don’t really want to hear about all this, do you?

And so a new day begins…what’s so new about it?

I will start with what I know and move ever so gradually into what I haven’t the faintest idea about. What I know is that it’s damn darn cold out there today and that I am wearing my blue wool hat indoors again. I have become odd and eccentric without even the slightest effort.

Friends are returning from beyond the edge…never a dull moment.

I used to sing, I know that. I used to write songs…yep. I used to write. Upon last inspection there remained only two or three neurotransmitters in my brain that still functioned correctly or with any accuracy. The rest of them have moved to Vegas and Atlantic City in no particular order. You pick. Is it a forty-something thingy?

I’m looking at that date. It’s been two years since my father passed away. Two years since he flew from here. I miss him terribly, and in the strangest unexpected ways. When someone that close to us dies we never really get over it do we? I loved my father dearly even when we didn’t see eye to eye on things. In so many ways we are our parents. We spend so much time differentiating ourselves from them as we grow up, only to find out that we are truly made out of them and everyone else that went into making them. It’s an amazing thing.

Hey Papa, you haven’t missed much. The world has been a pretty nasty place lately. You wouldn’t have liked much of it. In some ways you are lucky to have missed it. The world you knew was not a bed of roses, far from it, but these past two years have been trying times. You would have been very upset about humankind. But you are as free as a bird now, your spirit soars much higher than it could ever have here on earth. When I get scared, I remember the warmth of your hug, the twinkle in your eye, and your smiling face and that gets me through some of the hell on earth. How lucky we are to have known each other…Father and son. Thank you for everything you sacrificed and everything you didn’t.

And so the day begins…missing my Father.

Time is speeding by again. Sometimes, these days, I get a feeling where I become aware that I am only in this body of mine temporarily. It’s as if my body is a car; I am driving through life in it, only my body doesn’t have a seatbelt with which I can secure myself. It feels a bit iffy sometimes, like I might take a turn too quickly and come flying loose, at which point I will be unable to get back into my body. What would that be like?

I once had a dream in which I had a sore throat. In order to get to the heart of the matter, I cut my own head off so I could get a much better look. After looking and poking around in my own throat, which was after all still attached to my head, I was satisfied that all was basically in order, at which point I became horrifyingly aware of my dilemma: how does one get one’s own head back on after one has cut it off? As I did the math, I realized fully the gravity of what I had done, and found myself to be way in over my head. Any Freudians out there that would like to take a stab at this one go right ahead. Talk about losing ones head. Yikes. It was an extremely unpleasant thing, from which I woke up in terror.

I’m wearing my blue wool cap again. I’ve had what feels like a sinus headache again all day long. Heaven help me.

Stephen and I drove out to the superstore malls up on Mavis Road. Like a couple of losers we went to Winners to see what bargains we could pick up.I bought a bunch of shirts and tops that I don’t really need, but then again I never feel like I need to buy any new clothing…ever. But once I am at a clothing store I usually leave my common sense at the door. Stephen bought three plain white T-shirts; where as, all I could seem to focus on were tops, when in fact what I really need are pants.

Off to a very late start this morning. I will post something more substantial this afternoon. See you then.

I am confused this morning. What am I doing? What am I doing? Some days are like that. I am writing about my thoughts and feelings and putting them on the web. Ummm. What are you nuts? No, I’m just out of my mind.

“Everyone will know everything.”

Trust me, everyone will never know everything. The real important stuff can never be known by anyone. So, I’m confused. I don’t really see confusion as something strange. Actually, it is clarity I am most suspicious of.

I’ve been going back and reading through my earliest journals and what I find there both illuminates and horrifies me. I began keeping a journal at the age of fourteen. What astounds me is just how illiterate I actually was. Even more amazing in retrospect, is that I received passing grades each year despite the fact that I could scarcely read or write; I must have been pretty stealthy. Does this say something about the school system in which I spent my formative years? I only learned to read and write fluently as an adult. Perhaps it was my illiteracy that eventually lead me to become such an avid reader and a compulsive journal writer. To date, my personal journal is over twenty thousand pages in length and counting.

Life is short and getting shorter each and every day. Don’t waste a moment. Find something you love; then do that each and every day for as long as you love it.

I woke up this morning thinking I had discovered the cure for chronic addictive fingernail biting. That must be worth a few bucks if marketed correctly. These are the things I wake up with be bopping around in my mind. Then I realized I hadn’t filed my nails in over a week and had better do that. So I did that. Also not that interesting, but hey, it’s early. Well actually it’s not really early. Ok, It’s early for me…since I’ve been unable to get myself to bed at a decent hour. What is to you decent?

First thing I did after writing my morning pages and filing my nails was to read Jann Arden’s online journal. Her latest entry is all about jealousy. She always hits a homerun when she writes about the underbelly of human emotions; I call them the clinging emotions, the ones that stick to you like crazy glue for years. Things like jealousy…obsession…depression. What could be more on the money than Jann Arden writing about the gut rotting cling of jealousy? Jann knows her brand, which is even better than “just” showing up. You write it girl!

Had a nice time yesterday. Stephen picked Rob up from downtown and the three of us had an enjoyable afternoon/evening just hanging out together the way friends do. Stephen cooked Goulash which was fantastic, and after dinner we went so far as to have Chocolate Ice Cream while watching a tape of this week’s episode of Sex and the City, without even a trace of guilt. Well maybe a trace. Yvette, don’t read that last part. Ok, we ate plain yogurt…I swear it…Plain old yucky yogurt. Honest.

The sun is dancing quite hysterically all over my uncut front lawn, viciously reminding me of my failed gardening career. The grass and sun are laughing their faces off right now, taunting me with, “You are a failure, you are a failure…you didn’t cut the lawn in three weeks. It looks like shit; your neighbors will hate you.” Bla bla bla bla. Oh shove it where the sun don’t shine. Ya.

So the day begins…

I'm in an artsy mood this afternoon. First the poem this morning and now another painting. This must be in response to all the geeky stuff that went into the making of the website. Eyes With Windows is a digital painting I did in Photoshop a couple of years ago. It was one of my first digital efforts.

Stephen just drove downtown to pick up Robert for a nice and early Sunday evening dinner. Gotta drive that new Lexus hither and thither.

Me, I'm as tired as a dog if not more so. I need a rest, a long rest.

The future is uncertain
The words that leave my mouth; uncertain
The clouds that cover over deep dark layers are hesitant.
The rhyme and the reason
Both uncertain and unconvincing plastic
The curtains are undecided
The wind will move them over
And out
There is meaning but it lives in doubtful connections
In the moment
Uncertain
Censorship
Does yet not live in my words but
In the part of my brain that would prevent them
In a hurry as you are, yet uncertain
Ambivalent underbelly worlds…as worries
As gunshots fire out
For certain and well aimed
The only thing that is
Certain is a sphere of imagination
In which we will spin through
Our very own
Circles of mud and mood
With Absolute certainty
Any question?

So the day certainly begins..

I am writing this in bed. Why not? I’ve got the laptop on my lap and my blue wool cap on and I am ready to write. I feel a bit chilled this morning. It must be cold outside… I can feel the cold coming right through the wall. I wanted this. I was tired of the warm weather.

I need to go on an artist’s date. I need to see a movie, go downtown, maybe Church and Wellesley, sit in a café window and watch people. I love watching people just going about being themselves. Last weekend was consumed by setting up MovableType here on the website. Not this weekend. This weekend I am going to relax for a change.

Thanks yesterday’s phone call Victor. It was good to hear your voice.

At my age (41) you get excited about voices on the phone. I have lost so many voices over the years that I almost feel like it’s a fluke that anyone is left at all. I would give anything to hear my father’s voice right now. I would give anything to hear Wilson’s voice, “Hi Honey!” Or John Lewis, one of me dearest friends; “See how you are!” Oh sweet Jesus I miss you Johnny Lewis. Remember all the days and nights. Out of all the people who were called back too soon, you are the one my soul can’t seem to make due without. Life is drab without the brilliance of your smiling face and your warm and generous spirit. There can be no God, unless God just got too lonely without you and needed you to come home.

Willi is home and cuddled up beside me on the bed while I write this.

Yesterday I posted a song of mine to the site entitled, “Somewhere Out There”. Click to Listen Many feelings come back to me when I hear it. Wilson had passed away on May 7, 1987 and it took me nine months to finally be able to write something about it. It’s a wonder the song got written at all since recall being extremely chocked up during the entire session. In those days I still believed that my music would find an audience. I was actively writing about a song each week; it just seemed to pour out of me. Remember, what you are hearing is a work in progress, it is by no means intended to be listened to as a finished product. I offer it as a glimpse into my creative process at a particular moment in time as I will do from time to time.

During that session I was alone in my studio, a January snow was falling quite heavily outside my window. I was feeling quite abandoned by life. Still I had a sense that maybe there was a life after death and perhaps, somewhere out there, Wilson could here me. Remember, in 1988 the web was six years away from being invented and I had absolutely no idea that fourteen years later these recordings would wind up being mp3 files that could be downloaded anywhere in the world from my website. The words download and website did not exist. In 1988 there was only one way an artist could be heard and that was to get a record deal and wind up getting played on the radio. Things have changed a wee bit since then. Thank God?

So the day begins…I will remember you.

Posted by thatmark at October 19, 2002 12:25 PM

Willi is still at the Big House on vacation. He’s been there since Monday. I miss my dog. I think my friend Rob is thinking of getting himself a dog from the Humane Society. Oh yes…the Humane Society. Actually, I should thank the Human Society because without them I would never have found Willi. Willi did not actually come from the Humane Society; on the contrary, he came from a good breeder in the Albion Hills.

At the time I had a Springer Spaniel named Sam. Sam was a great dog but I sensed that he was getting a bit lonely for the company of other dogs, so I thought it would be a good idea to get him a friend. My first thought was to give an unwanted dog a home, so off I went to the Humane Society. I went back a couple of times and each time was heartbreaking because I felt like taking them all home with me. By the second visit I had chosen one particular dog I thought would make a great family member.

So I went to the front desk and told them that I had found a dog that I was interested in adopting. I was then lead into a small room by one of the attendants where she proceeded to conduct an adoption interview. First I was asked to fill out a form, and then was asked a series of questions. At the end of the interview I was told that I was ineligible to adopt a dog because the dog I currently owned had not been neutered. Sam would first have to be neutered before I might be eligible to adopt one of their already neutered animals.

I understand all their concerns; of course they don’t want more stray animals being created in the world by unfixed dogs. What animal lover would sign up for that? However, my dog was never going to get the opportunity to impregnate another animal unless by design. So the dog at the Humane Society lost a wonderful loving home and stayed there to wait for another family to come along, or to be put down; I then went and bought Willi, my adorable and much loved West Highland Terrier, from a reputable breeder.

As much as I wanted to support the Humane Society, I felt they were more interested in agendas and policies and therefore prevented this particular animal from being adopted into a loving home. As I said, the dog I had wanted to adopt was already neutered (as all the abandoned animals are) and was not at risk of creating any new puppies. Later I was told by a student of mine, who had some insider knowledge of the Human Society, that they receive government funding for each animal they have to put down. Hmmm. That would be evil wouldn’t it? So, what is humane, and what is society? It’s a difficult area and has a dark underbelly.

The end outcome of this story is that Sam remained unfixed until the end of his life as well as Willi, and neither of them was ever granted the opportunity to impregnate another dog; simple as that. So thank you Humane Society for Willi; and as for that dog in need…I pray that a loving family adopted him before he became a government subsidy. I had been willing and able.

So, the day begins…

I was still wearing my blue knit cap when I walked into the pharmacy.

Yesterday I went to the doctor for the follow up on the sinus infection. He advised me that I should not take any more antibiotics because it could wreck my digestive system. Hello, that happened two weeks ago. So now I am on acidophilus capsules to get some good bacteria into my gut. Also he prescribed some cream for the…hemorrhoids that have come about because the diarrhea, which was caused by the antibiotics. I guess this is what life is all about; things usually start out being all in the head and then wind up being a pain in the ass. Hey, whatever makes your clock tick?

I am obviously in an extremely poetic mood at the moment.

Speaking of poetry, after my doctor’s appointment I headed straight to the pharmacy in my doctor’s building with my blue cap on, to fill my new prescription for my bum medication. Actually, the word “bum” came directly out of my doctor’s mouth, no joke. “This is for your bum.” he says while handing me the illegible piece of prescription paper. I had no idea anyone still used the word bum in reference to a person’s ass. In my tiny universe, a bum is someone who wants to wash your car window for money after you have just been to the carwash. That’s a bum. I guess I’m being politically incorrect but I think it is equally insulting to have my ass referred to as a bum. My ass is not a bum, believe me. If you think about it, this is all a form of bum poetry. And I put this stuff out there?

But seriously, as I am waiting for my youknowwhat medication, there is this guy talking to the pharmacist, dressed in combat fatigues from the waist down, and has a black leather jacket on and a black hat on. Who wears hats anymore? He looks to me to be in his late thirties, very thin with a narrow, angular face, (starving artist syndrome) and a scraggly looking beard. Interesting person I think to myself. Next thing I know he is talking to me. He sees that I am carrying a book and walks up to me and says, “What are you reading?” I tell him and then without any warning he’s telling me he’s a poet and would I mind if he would recite some of his most cutting edge poetry to me while we are waiting for our prescriptions. “Of course not…go right ahead.” I say, not wanting to miss out on what happens next.

The first poem is all about a rock club where there are all kinds of peculiar comings and goings. It had a lot of dark imagery and words that I would need a dictionary for. Then he said, “And now I will recite my most salacious poem.’ By all means, we are in a drugstore, at noon, waiting in line, ummm, I can’t think of a more appropriate place for a live, salacious poetry recital by the author. It works for me. To the other people in the room, it simply looks like we are sharing a secret between friends.

After the third poem I am ready for my bum medication or even to have my car windows spontaneously washed by a bum. Then he shows me the tattoos on his wrist which are to commemorate five friends of his from a rock band that had jointly committed suicide. Nice tattoos all around his right wrist, really… if you like that sort of thing.

I know my limitations…I will never be that interesting. I can only wonder at how different our paths are and yet, here in this moment our paths are crossing and believe it or not I fully enjoy the rich absurdity of the moment. When was the last time you had a poet walk up to you in a drugstore and start a recital for just you? Shit happens.

I swear it: I am shortly going to come to the end of all this toilet humor. What a bummer.

So the day begins…

I am still wearing my blue wool hat this morning. It seems to work to warm up my hands and nose. That’s right, my nose is freezing, and if you have ever seen my nose you know that this is not a small piece of real estate. Also my right hand is cold. I tell you…I should have let them finish with the embalming. See what happens when you cut short an otherwise seamless process.

I am off to see the doctor again today. I am beginning to feel like one of those Woody Allen hypochondriacs, and that’s not funny. It runs in my family. My grandmother was a hypochondriac. On any given day, for over eighty some odd years, she was on the verge of death. I think I take very strongly after her. Perfect. Never mind.

Right around now is when I should think up something funny to say. Ya.

So I’m going to tell the doctor that my baby finger has been cold for a while now not to mention my ring finger which is just next to my baby finger. Perhaps my ring finger has caught a cold from my baby finger and therefore has fallen ill.

Do you know what happens to a person when they take powerful antibiotics for 14 days in a row? Am I allowed to say the word hemorrhoids? No? Is this entirely too much information? How about the word diarrhea? My spell checker tells me I don’t know how to spell even simple words like diarrhea. Diarrhea is after all a fairly common experience. How is it that I have lived for forty-one years and still don’t know the spelling of diarrhea? Have you ever seen so many R’s in a row, and what’s with the H? Do we really need the H? Well now then, I am now sliding into toilet humor, which, depending on what end of the toilet you happen to be on can be a good or not so good thing.

How about that Martha Stewart? She’s funny. How about a website called thatmartha.com. I like it, let's run with it.

I wonder whether or not my doctor will think I am crazy when I walk into his office wearing my blue wool cap. I haven’t decided yet if I like this look but I think I may stick with it for a while.

The other day I had a sudden fear of earthquakes. Ya. What if there was an earthquake in the middle of the night and my fully loaded IKEA bookshelves came hurling down onto the bed while I was sleeping. I would be crushed to death by my books. All those biographies about other people’s lives that I so like to read…would be the death of me. I need to nail them to the wall. Also the bookshelves in the living room right? These things are lethal accidents just waiting for an earthquake to happen. Yikes.

Ok, so we've established that it is a goal of mine to be foolish…me and Carrie Fisher both.

So the day begins…doesn’t it?

Bedtime

I really should be in bed. I've been wearing a knit wool cap all day in an effort to keep warm. What could this be? Strangeness? Ya.

Going to try to get a good night's sleep.

So the day ends...still wearing my blue knit cap. What sort of peculiarities are lurking yet.

Posted by thatmark at October 15, 2002 11:26 PM

What normal person is up at this ungodly hour? It certainly is not normal for me. But since I am up, why not just post a little something to the site.

Thanksgiving dinner at the Big House last night was very nice. Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, family…came and went. Thank you Mother for lovingly preparing yet another Thanksgiving extravaganza and holding family traditions in tack, something we need now more than ever since Father passed almost two years ago. I just can’t believe that Thanksgiving has come and gone. I must have pushed the fast-forward button again. Next stop…Christmas. Yikes.

I am thankful for so many things…even with all the turmoil in the world; we need to be thankful because, quite frankly it could be a lot worse. The Second World War comes to mind. Now that was bad. Yet, I strongly believe that the people who survived it were thankful that they did. Sometimes they don’t know how they survived it, but they are thankful nonetheless.

Thanksgiving means more than being thankful…it also is a wake up call. Let us not be complacent. Let our gratitude also remind us of those who are in need and who are suffering still. Let us not rest until every human soul has been freed from torture, terror, and inner and outer tyranny. There are places in this world where there is still precious little to be thankful for. In our gratitude, let us remember those places that are in need of our attention.

And so a new day begins…

It is exactly two months now since I started keeping an online journal. It’s been quite an interesting and pleasurable experience. I’ve really enjoyed watching the weekly readership steadily increase. I am tremendously thankful to all of you who read the journal on a regular basis. Thanks so much for the good word of mouth. It’s the only thing that could be responsible for the increase in traffic. There are now many more people reading the journal than I know personally. It’s exciting to have the opportunity to reach you and share my thoughts with you in such an honest and direct way. I need to thank Tim Berners-Lee and his colleagues for inventing the World Wide Web. His name should be known to everyone who has an internet connection? The world is a different place because of his invention, yet our capacity to know how to put it to good use is still in its infancy.

Spent the whole goddamned day listening to other people's dogs bark. Fuck.

Day 6 of antibiotics. They work. It’s a wonder though. The first round didn’t do anything except prolong my agony. These are working. The sinus headache is almost history. It’s still there a wee bit but rapidly fading.

A life is like the layers of an onion. Each day, each experience is yet another layer. The layers build up steadily and constantly. Things that are further back in time are living within the deeper layers. We think we have forgotten, and then, quite suddenly they pop into our awareness. Some association with that earlier person, place or thing will happen and up from the layers a memory will come; shiny new, as crystal clear as the day we lived it , or faded and scratched like a one hundred year old photograph.

Well, the fun with antibiotics continues. This damn darn sinus infection is way past being tedious. I worry about my doctor. Yesterday I had to point out that he was refilling my prescription with a different drug. “Oh?” Ya. Then instead of giving me the drug he had previously prescribed, he gave me some samples of a slightly different drug but very similar. Ok.

Oh look, it's October 11. That always reminds me of someone...and that someone's birthday. If you are that someone, Happy Birthday. I am thinking of you even if I shouldn't be. That's life...sometimes we are just stupid idiots. And that includes me.

If I was so stupid
Then what was what you did?
You were not a good friend to me

Holy Moses
Words & Music by Jann Arden

And so the day begins... with me missing all the years in between.

Under the weather today even though the weather is fine. Didn't sleep well at all last night and I am certainly not about to bore you with the details of that. Off to see the doctor, perhaps I need another round of antibiotics. Other than that I plan to just take the day off and rest. I really need to shake this sinus thing once and for all.

So the day begins...very early and very late.

P.S.: Happy Birthday...Sheri Somerville

My sinus infection is not completely gone. I am now getting concerned. I know the antibiotics have been working, but it's not completely gone and that leads me to think that I am not quite out of the woods yet with this thing. Help! It's like the squeaky window on the driver side of my Jetta; do you think the dealership could fix this problem? My Jetta is driving me nuts. Every bump I go over, ever little bump, I have the sound of utter incompetence plonking rather annoyingly in my left ear. I have addressed this issue at least five times with Queensway Volkswagen's "Award Winning" service department. What a joke. The car drives well, except this damn rattle. It's the most annoying thing I have ever experience in a car. Day in and day out it is driving me slowly off the deep end. Why didn't I buy a Japanese car? Any Japanese car. Mix this all together with a persistent sinus infection and what do you get?

Crankiness.

Now add in the rest. Add in a few drive by shootings.

How about this crazy world we live in. People being shot in broad daylight doing their shopping. What is going on! Could this be a new act of terrorism or just some psychopath getting a hard-on mowing down innocent people? This crime is unlike any thing the world has ever seen. Random killings of just about anybody, doing just about anything.
Ok, doesn't that just put a squeaky window and a persistent sinus infection into perspective? Yikes. The world is nuts.

So the day begins...but you gotta wonder, don't you?

There is a band of sunlight washing the grass across the street from my window. The world is smaller from here; manageable. But when I am confronted with open expanses of sky and cloud, my thoughts can be overwhelmed at how surreal being alive seems sometimes. Every once in a while the world will appear to me as if I have never seen it before, as if I am discovering it for the first time. Wow. What made this? How did this come into being? It’s so beautiful; it’s so magnificent, and so terrible. I am convinced that mankind built homes to live in because the sky was just too overwhelming to look at all the time. It dwarfs us so. Indoors we feel more powerful, more contained and relatively larger. Last night the sun set in a completely different place, and the colder weather I’ve been waiting for has finally arrived. Last night I killed a spider by flushing it down the toilet and felt like a murderer.

My cousin Johanna is going to have a baby. How exciting. I was beginning to believe that there would never be any new people born that were even remotely related to me. She’s expecting at the end of January. Congratulations! I can see a very spoiled child on the horizon.

Willi is on vacation. My work interferes with his life, but I know he is in good hands with my mother, even though I have the feeling he is getting dreadfully spoiled sometimes. Whenever he comes back from her house he’s terribly bossy with me. But I think he’s enjoying the change of scenery.

Yvette and I went out for a celebratory dinner last night. She has lost over 50 pounds and is well on her way to reaching her goal. Yesterday’s milestone was to get under 200. It’s important to stop and celebrate each others victories. I don’t think we do that enough. This morning I stepped on the scale and was 169 pounds. I haven’t seen that weight in a long time…say 8 years, so I was a bit confused by the whole thing. I stepped on the scale twice just to make sure that it was right. Cut the carbs I say.

I am missing you
Like yesterday and the day before that
Somehow, somewhere
We will be together again even if
Just for a moment
In the sky
In my mind

Jann Arden’s latest journal entry was particularly good. The stuff about falling snow flakes…well you can read it for yourself, just click your shoes together three times and repeat, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.” And don’t forget to click the link that will take you right to her site.

Reading Jann Arden’s web journal is an essential thing. Can’t wait for her book to arrive in the stores.

So the day begins well…

Posted by thatmark at October 8, 2002 07:59 AM

Day 8 of antibiotics. They work. It’s a wonder though. The first round didn’t do anything except prolong my agony. These are working. The sinus headache is almost history. It’s still there a wee bit but rapidly fading.

A life is like the layers of an onion. Each day, each experience is yet another layer. The layers build up steadily and constantly. Things that are further back in time are living within the deeper layers. We think we have forgotten, and then, quite suddenly they pop into our awareness. Some association with that earlier person, place or thing will happen and up from the layers a memory will come; shiny new, as crystal clear as the day we lived it; or faded and scratched like a one hundred year old photograph.

Unlike an onion, the mind is like a holograph; all parts are contained in the smallest part. All memories are contained in each memory. They all lead eventually to each other.

Some are more difficult to reach
Yet with the right wind
Or an exact scent
In a blink of an eye
They will find you again

When the clouds and winds of October come, I am reminded of hospital green corridors and the smell of iodine soap, and clear, crisp October days. First, when Wilson was struck by AIDS in October 1986, and more recently when my father’s battle with cancer was reaching its climax in October two years ago. When the winds pick up and rustle the leaves, I remember these men; Wilson beginning his departure, my father ending his. They are one and the same loss; the loss of a dearly loved person that will live forever in the mind; their smiles, their tears, their laughter, their joys and sufferings. Their love; and the emptiness that fills the places they used to fill. I miss them, yet in a split second they are entirely with me again…unexpectedly, in moments of reverie, fully alive within the hologram of my mind; we are together again.

So the day begins…in daydreams of my dead people.

Taking the day off writing...

So the day begins...without me.

I begin with where I am. I am thinking of you. What a feverish twitch life can be from time to time. So many things that pass through our hands before we know what has happened. Life is a dream; Life is a nightmare. I have to stop shaking my head. I have to rearrange the fragments and then paint them the color of falling leaves. Sometimes when I paint with words I like to make abstract art.

Stephen drops the shampoo bottle in the bathtub while showering. “forchristsakes!” comes his voice through the wall. Of course, what are we expecting? That life should go smoothly, that the shampoo bottle will stay in our hands? Forgetaboutit; it will not. Things in life are often slippery to the grasp and have a tendency to fall. Take a deep breath and know that in your frustration, you are not alone; right now there are millions of people who have just dropped something and are cursing the world in frustration. Fuck!

Often, these days, I find things slipping out of my hands and I hear some curse word coming from my mouth when I am the only one who could possibly hear it. How strange. In essence, you could say that I talk to myself when I am acutely frustrated. The sinus pain that I’ve had for the past few weeks has made me more irritable than usual and has given me a very short fuse. Thank God the antibiotics are working. Of course my stomach hates them. It’s a tradeoff; ten days of stomach upset and farting for the end of sinus pain. You got to just love those side effects.

The sky is overcast outside my window, but the grass is greener now than it has been since spring. The leaves have begun to turn, and they too are slipping out of the grasp of their branches.

With the next big wind
Down they will come
In their glorious burnout
Until every tree
Stands naked and alone

I wonder if trees get embarrassed
I wonder if trees are cursing with frustration at their own clumsiness
Perhaps they are more in tune
Than we are
I hope so

So the day begins...

I take back everything I said about the medical profession. Well, maybe not everything…but some of it. The antibiotics my doctor prescribed seem to be fighting my sinus infection. It’s not completely gone yet, but I can feel that the medication is having an effect. How many weeks has it been now? It seems like an awfully long time since I have not been myself. Nothing like a chronic illness to derail everything. Where was I? Ummm.

Yesterday was summer hot. Today is supposed to be warm again. I took Willi for a walk at 5:00am this morning because he needed to go, and it was warmer outside than in the house. I don’t think I can recall a summer like this…or rather a fall like this. Is this global warming? It sure is strange.

My cousin Michael from Sweden is visiting with us for a couple of days. It’s really nice to see him again. My brother and Michael have a lot in common. They both have a sort of scientific political intelligence that I most certainly did not inherit. It’s interesting to see how these things are inherited, and where certain traits come from. To see them together one might think that they were brothers. To listen to them talk with each other, one can’t help but feel that they are simpatico; cut from a similar stone.

This is a picture of my Great Grandmother on my father's side.

Family is an endless source of fascination for me. I brought out some pictures that I had only recently discovered in my Grandmother’s things, to show Michael. Some of the photos he had seen before and some he had not.

There, in all their glory are our ancestors on my father’s side posing for the camera, 80 years ago, 90 years ago, 100 years ago; some of these people we have never met, yet live in each of us. Their faces are strangely familiar to us, because they are the previous versions of our own faces. How strange it is that we can look at them, resemble them, yet some of them died long before we were born and never knew us. One day, we too will be only faces on a photograph. Still, I find it difficult to contemplate not being here.

So, the day begins well…

Day 2 of powerful antibiotics. My doctor, in his infinite wisdom prescribed a more powerful antibiotic in the hope that this sinus pain in my face is indeed an infection. Hey, at this point you could knock me out with heroin and I would think that was the perfect solution. Taking the Jetta in for service this morning. Maybe I should go in for the tune-up instead of the car. Some of my emotional sparkplugs need some fixing. Maybe I need a new transmission, one with some gears that go sideways, not only forward and reverse. Also, I could probably need some rust-proofing as well. What could it hurt? Oh sweet miserableness. That isn’t even a word. Good... now I am making up words…what next? And making up car metaphors…no. Oh fuck it.

Enough,

So the day begins…what are my chances?