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mallorys_cameraInterview with the T-burg household is now a definite for 8/16.
Which makes me feel somewhat less invisible.
I mean, feeling invisible 'cause you're emotionally distraught is all kinds of crazy! For one thing, it makes you even more emotionally distraught; for another, it's not a useful kind of invisibility that might allow you, say, to rob a bank or slash the tires of your enemies.
No, one must strive to keep distraught emotions in check. Stay the course! Do the prep work! Chop wood, carry water—or is it the other way around?
###
Anyway, yesterday was rough because I entered into my eighth straight day of Not Hanging Out With Anyone In the Flesh because there is absolutely no one to hang out with here (Brian is dead, Brian is dead) though my little tentacles stretch wide with texts & phone calls throughout the virtual universe.
The kiskas are good girls though not what I would call good company in times of emotional duress because they are not snuggly in the slightest—though Molly follows me all around the house & spent an hour and a half last night, meowing plaintively while I sat outside, chattering on the phone, counting the fireflies and watching a pine tree pin a blood-orange crescent moon. (There is a lot of smoke in the air.)
And Black Chicken has developed Horrible Habits! She has become a Welfare Chicken! Instead of ranging freely across the property when I let her out of her coop in the morning, she runs to the house & sits on the porch & clucks at me: Feed me tortillas! If I sit on the porch reading, she pecks at my toes!
###
The gym is a great solace. Endorphins, doncha know. And I suppose it's just possible I'm getting physically stronger (though I think it's more likely I am merely slowing down entropy.)
And books—I just reread Gone Girl and read Sharp Objects for the first time. Interestingly enough, Sharp Objects is the more accomplished novel. (That's interesting because it was Gillian Flynn's first novel, and usually, first novels are not as good as the ones that follow.)
And phone conversations—chattered away last night with a good friend who is recovering from Major Medical Issues. He will recover in full, but omyGAWD, what he went through, plus the conversation evolved into a discussion of assisted suicide—possibly not the most tactful conversational segue on my part—and from there into non-assisted suicides: We started talking about that man my friend knew who'd committed suicide in the parking lot of the Grand Rapids airport—
And the phone went dead.
Just like that!
It took a couple of minutes to reestablish the connection.
"Well, I guess he doesn't want us talking about him," I said.
"No shit!" said my friend.
So we started talking about Larry McMurtry instead. Who wrote lots of books. And didn't kill himself.
Which makes me feel somewhat less invisible.
I mean, feeling invisible 'cause you're emotionally distraught is all kinds of crazy! For one thing, it makes you even more emotionally distraught; for another, it's not a useful kind of invisibility that might allow you, say, to rob a bank or slash the tires of your enemies.
No, one must strive to keep distraught emotions in check. Stay the course! Do the prep work! Chop wood, carry water—or is it the other way around?
###
Anyway, yesterday was rough because I entered into my eighth straight day of Not Hanging Out With Anyone In the Flesh because there is absolutely no one to hang out with here (Brian is dead, Brian is dead) though my little tentacles stretch wide with texts & phone calls throughout the virtual universe.
The kiskas are good girls though not what I would call good company in times of emotional duress because they are not snuggly in the slightest—though Molly follows me all around the house & spent an hour and a half last night, meowing plaintively while I sat outside, chattering on the phone, counting the fireflies and watching a pine tree pin a blood-orange crescent moon. (There is a lot of smoke in the air.)
And Black Chicken has developed Horrible Habits! She has become a Welfare Chicken! Instead of ranging freely across the property when I let her out of her coop in the morning, she runs to the house & sits on the porch & clucks at me: Feed me tortillas! If I sit on the porch reading, she pecks at my toes!
###
The gym is a great solace. Endorphins, doncha know. And I suppose it's just possible I'm getting physically stronger (though I think it's more likely I am merely slowing down entropy.)
And books—I just reread Gone Girl and read Sharp Objects for the first time. Interestingly enough, Sharp Objects is the more accomplished novel. (That's interesting because it was Gillian Flynn's first novel, and usually, first novels are not as good as the ones that follow.)
And phone conversations—chattered away last night with a good friend who is recovering from Major Medical Issues. He will recover in full, but omyGAWD, what he went through, plus the conversation evolved into a discussion of assisted suicide—possibly not the most tactful conversational segue on my part—and from there into non-assisted suicides: We started talking about that man my friend knew who'd committed suicide in the parking lot of the Grand Rapids airport—
And the phone went dead.
Just like that!
It took a couple of minutes to reestablish the connection.
"Well, I guess he doesn't want us talking about him," I said.
"No shit!" said my friend.
So we started talking about Larry McMurtry instead. Who wrote lots of books. And didn't kill himself.
no subject
Date: 2025-08-05 02:27 pm (UTC)But I have a stupid number of things on my calendar in the near future, sigh, so it would be foolish to overcommit and then back out, et cetera.
no subject
Date: 2025-08-05 02:38 pm (UTC)But yes, I hear you about calendars.
no subject
Date: 2025-08-05 03:53 pm (UTC)LOL. Black Chicken knows which side her bread is buttered...
The fireflies and the blood-orange moon sound beautiful. I haven't been out at night at all this summer. Just too tired. I should try and make an effort.
no subject
Date: 2025-08-06 01:01 pm (UTC)