In a MOOD

Oct. 12th, 2019 10:43 am
mallorys_camera: (Default)
[personal profile] mallorys_camera
In a Mood.

No excuses for it.

Weather still sunny, autumn at its most gently majestic. Went for another long tromp. Snagged a remunerative client for the winter lull when usually, there aren’t any clients. Even completed that Tedious Bureaucratic Task that’s been dangling over my head like Damocles’s sword since whenever was forever.

But I’m feeling disconnected.

Best I can figure is that the Mood is a response to two bits of gossip.

First, FMomUG’s marriage.

Second, Caro Snowdrop’s announcement—made on FB, of course!—that she’s pregnant.

Two people whose lives brushed up against mine for what in retrospect turned out to be the briefest of moments.

But, for whatever reason, I am staggering under the weight of connections severed and lives tranquilly meandering on even though I ME PATRIZIA am no longer a part of them.

I mean—how fucking dare they, right?

###

In other news, I have been an industrious little squirrel gathering my acorns! It’s all about the Benjamins! I’ve been using credit cards waaaaaaay too much plus the car needs work that should be done before there’s ice on the roads plus the cat likes to eat, plus… plus… plus…

So, I am hunkering down and generating revenue like mad. In between binge-watching Top Chef, which is kind of like Love Island for intellectual foodies.

I am supposed to go see Turandot in about an hour and show up at a dinner party later tonight.

These are two events I have absolutely no interest in participating in though I guess they sounded good when I accepted the invitations.

When I’m in a Mood, it’s difficult to mediate what comes out of my mouth. I’m afraid I’m going to be sarcastic, withering, and malicious if I utter a single word. That means I have to sentence myself to complete silence.

If I'm gonna be silent, I'd rather be alone.

###

Also, I went shopping at Adams Fairacre Farms yesterday, which is the upscale supermarket chain here in the quaint and scenic Hudson Valley.

Every place has one of these supermarket chains. Grocery stores where the aisles are wide, where fluorescent light fixtures are verboten, where the produce is fresh and beautiful, where the meat and fish were yanked straight out of an illustration in Bon Appétit.

In Ithaca, this supermarket chain is Wegman’s.

Standing in Adams, suddenly I thought, You’ll never be able to go into Wegman’s in Ithaca again. It will remind you too much of Ben.

I wanted to cry.

How is it possible Ben is dead?

I want to stand on the porch of the Tburg flat and talk to him about America’s Food Network fetish.

Now, I’m the only guardian of those hundreds of memories, floaters from an increasingly irrelevant past.

It’s a really lonely feeling.

Date: 2019-10-12 03:58 pm (UTC)
thisnewday: (Default)
From: [personal profile] thisnewday
"I want to stand on the porch of the Tburg flat and talk to him..." Then maybe you should've done just that. I did a lot of that after my wife's passing, less of it now. I did try to keep it, you know, on the down-low because, well, people will think you're nucking futs. Which may be absolutely true. But I'm OK about sharing this with you because it's just between the two of us, right?

Date: 2019-10-12 04:48 pm (UTC)
johnny9fingers: (Default)
From: [personal profile] johnny9fingers
I thought you still spoke to him; the lying old charmer. Or it could be the lie of life, or the lie of death, or the lie of existence.

The realm of chance’s needs must be a zero-sum game; but I would suggest that love has negative entropy. Even in hindsight.

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