Some days one just sits down to write. I have a list of topics that I very well COULD write about but for whatever reason they just don’t appeal at the moment. So it’s Saturday. I have this little internal upwelling in my chest that is either the nascent rumblings of a heart attack or the strange and giddy need to put something down on “paper” (or rather the most easily available electronic approximation thereof).
As I said before, it’s Saturday and another weekend stretches out before us. Since I’m an American that means two things:
- There are dozens of options available to me from the arts to zoology. The world is figuratively at my fingertips. Lots and lots to do today. I could be lazy and be entertained or I could absolutely push myself to the physical and psychological limit and make this weekend a real gasser. Damn it’s good to be affluent and American.
- Despite all this I’m almost sociologically required to be dissatisfied with whatever the choices are. As Americans we’re required to want more, more, more or at the least different, different, different. I’m in the Midwest in February so long observation of the other people with whom I associate impels me to look to the south and say, “Boy! Sure which I was on the beach in Florida right now!” If I allow such silliness to creep into my head it does tend to have a deleterious effect on the perceived efficacy of the 174 things I have right here in town to entertain me this weekend.
This does beg the question of what the hell AM I going to do this weekend? There are any number of ticketed events I could wander out to but the problem is that I’m not especially keen to buy tickets to anything. I’m currently on a cheap binge so the thought of buying tickets to something for $25 each plus the almost compulsory dinner out before makes me knead my tongue with my teeth in a manner intended to keep the gnome of parsimony in my head distracted long enough for me to whip out my Visa. The more economical options, while neither worse nor better, have the aspects of doing something outside when it’s 30 degrees to recommend against them. Cleary this is a maelstrom of over analysis that requires a second party to participate in it. As I write this Laura’s still slumbering peacefully away so she will no doubt soon rise with vigor and enthusiasm to break the impasse in my head.
Shifting gears most wildly, the above bit of blather brings my mind to another point on which I’d intended to write but never quite gotten around to. In previous entries some of my situations have inspired a level of sympathy from my readers that was quite unintended. I’ve often written and been quite perplexed when the response is roughly akin to, “Oh that’s terrible, hope it gets better soon.” In these situations I can’t help but blink quizzically a few times while the words, “um, ok, it wasn’t actually –bad- in the first place, but OK…” roll lazily through my head.
In our society we value highly the sympathetic character in others. We want others to understand our pain and appreciate it but sometimes I think this can be taken to an extreme, especially in cases where there really isn’t any pain, but merely some internal quandary to be untangled. I often find myself writing things in a negative vein, expressing some conflict which I view as a puzzle to be teased out. It’s been my observation that many people view this internal puzzling as an appropriate target for sympathetic responses but personally I find these puzzlings very satisfying and if they were to be unavailable I would doubtless find myself going in search of them like a Pooh bear in search of that golden sustenance so painfully extracted from the recalcitrant honey bee. Oh bother.
And with that I close. The tie-breaker in the decision on the day’s activities has arisen so I make my way to determine the fate of the day with her. We shall see what the day brings.