“Those who can, do; those who can’t do, teach; those who can’t teach, write nasty book reviews; those who can’t write nasty book reviews, submit indignant letters to the editor; and those who can’t submit indignant letters to the editor, blog.”
Jonathan Marks
I, on the other hand, spend my time writing love notes to myself.
Lately, I have noticed that every three days or so, I wake up feeling physically and mentally exhausted, leaving me barely able to move. Instead of taking a long afternoon nap, I end up spending most of the day in a deep sleep, often extending until late in the evening. Today was no exception. Except for brief breaks for breakfast and lunch, I remained asleep until 8 PM. What’s that all about? I checked the news during the few moments I was not comatose. I didn’t miss anything. People behaved abominably toward one another. Many killed and maimed others. Even more demonstrated their hate for each other. Many lied. A few behaved heroically and others kindly. Nature wreaked havoc; animals died, plants wilted. Same old, same old.
Recently, I noticed that I seemed to be living in a world of intense noise but little information. Today, I realized that even with my hearing aids turned up high, I have difficulty comprehending what is being said. Oh, I hear the sounds, but they convey little meaning. It might as well be silence. Well, tomorrow is another day. As long as it is not accompanied by pain, it is probably worth looking forward to.
While eating a dinner of frozen pizza margherita, I decided to give Boo-boo a new nickname. Instead of Boo-boo the barking dog, I shall now and then refer to him as Boo-boo the garbage can.
I did manage to finish reading the third and last novel in the Quillifer series. It ends with him boarding his ship and embarking on a sad but not uncomfortable exile. Sic Transit Gloria.
The next morning, I woke up feeling a bit better but still ill. The leaf blowers were out in the neighborhood in force, and the dog was going crazy, running all around the house and barking furiously. After lunch, I gave up and returned upstairs to bed in the hope that I would be able to begin the day again later. In life, we make choices, but in the end, our choices make us. Today, I choose to return to bed. At this period in my life, my dreams are usually more interesting and much less tiring.
I awoke later in the afternoon. No dreams that I could recall. Only the trace of the dream beast slinking off into the dark underbrush. Perhaps tonight, I will track it to its den.
Despite waking up still feeling immensely fatigued, an odd sense of hyperactivity compelled me to venture to the supermarket. I aimlessly navigated the aisles, filling my cart with items loaded with sugar or salt. Lately, I seem to resemble a rag doll tossed around without the luxury of self-deception to rationalize it.
Later that evening, Naida and I tuned in to MSNBC’s reports about the indictment of DJT and others in Fulton County, Georgia. Distinct from previous indictments at the federal and state levels, the Fulton County District Attorney chose to employ the RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act) statute. Initially devised by the federal government in the 1970s to combat ethnic Italian and Jewish gangs in the Northeast, RICO simplified the process of gathering evidence to convict conspirators rather than merely the direct perpetrators of the crime. While historically focused on organized crime, these statutes have been effectively used in cases involving financial and political misconduct. Given the attention drawn by the Fulton County case, those with much to conceal may soon advocate for adjustments to these statutes’ potency.
It is now Tuesday morning. Although by the afternoon, the temperature is expected to reach 105°F, it appears quite pleasant as I sit here in the studio, looking out into the backyard and writing this. I feel better this morning than I have for the past few days. Good for me.
Today, Naida and I made two significant decisions. The first was to go see Oppenheimer at the movies this evening. The second was to go on an “end-of-life” vacation trip. The choices are either Peru or Antarctica.
Our plan to catch the movie fell through as it turned out to be sold out. We returned home, and I seized the opportunity to go for a swim. Around 7:30, the temperature still exceeded 100 degrees, although the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting only the treetops in its glow. I swam until twilight and then strolled back through the growing shadows.
The next day was expected to be even hotter, over 106 degrees by late afternoon. The combination of heat and allergies made me feel even more lethargic than usual, if that is even possible. After breakfast, I listened to some Sinatra while dozing on and off.
I sent an email message to my two favorite “adventure travelers,” Aileen and Ruth. Between them, they seem to have covered just about every place on this earth a rational person would want to visit. (Tahir Shah, who I never met but most of whose travel books I have read, on the other hand, appears to have chosen to visit those places no sane person would want to visit — or at least visit them in the manner that he did.) Ruth, who responded from Prince Edward Island where she is on another adventure, recommended a tour company she uses. Aileen was the office manager at a law firm where I was a partner, had traveled to Antarctica and Peru twice. Her office walls were a wonder of photographs from her travels. She gave me some great advice and sent some of her photos.
Later, I took the dog for a long walk. It was dusk, that time of day when the streetlights come on but it is still light enough to see everything. About halfway along my walk, I sat on one of the benches placed along the pathways of the Enchanted Forest for folks like me to rest and meditate. I thought about the wisdom that elders are said to acquire as they approach the end of their lives. This wisdom is often expressed in pithy sayings that some of us pass on to the younger generations to help them navigate the challenges of life. However, I suspect it’s not wisdom but simple fatigue that motivates us. Don’t get me wrong; I appreciate pithy sayings and often use them, but sitting on a bench at dusk on a warm summer evening, not thinking at all, seemed far more rewarding than pondering the validity of philosophical and poetic sayings. The young will have to manage without my advice, not that they would ever take it. With that, I and the dog headed home. I had a dinner of leftovers from lunch, put myself to bed, and slept dreamlessly until I saw the second star on the right.
“Today, August 19, 2023—a date that will live in ennui…”
The next morning, I woke up with a bleeding nose and had bled all over the sheets. After stuffing my nose with toilet paper to stop the bleeding, I went downstairs to make breakfast and wallow in self-pity. It was Saturday, and I worried that if I went to the Saturday Morning Coffee gathering, I might bleed onto my new Hawaiian shirt during the bad jokes session. I decided to take a nap before heading to the Coffee. However, I woke up at noon and realized I had missed it. I felt devastated, but then I remembered that I mainly attended the Coffee to hear bad jokes, even though I couldn’t hear the punchlines. My devastation turned into depression. I decided to take a shower, not because I needed one but because I thought the warmth and steam might lift my spirits. It didn’t. After the shower, I returned to bed briefly before deciding to get up and have lunch.
I heated up a dish of frozen ravioli. As I sat at the table eating, I noticed the dog staring at me with hope and greed in his eyes. I wondered if there was anything shining in my own eyes. Eventually, I tossed him a piece of ravioli and let him lick the empty plate after I finished eating. He seemed content.
I then decided to go for a mid-day swim at the pool, even though I usually swim in the late afternoons or early evenings when it’s cooler. However, in 2023, it had become clear that the Earth was warming at an alarming rate, and there was no stopping it. I figured I might as well enjoy a swim while I still could, especially since 93 degrees now counted as cool. So, I made my way through the Enchanted Forest to the pool.
When I arrived, there was no one else there. I sat down at one of the tables in the shade of an umbrella, equipped myself with earplugs, goggles, and a rubber swim cap for some reason, and slathered myself with ample globs of sunblock until I resembled an old photograph from National Geographic. After adorning myself, I took a moment for self-reflection. Almost immediately, a voice spoke to me. It said, “What’s with this boredom? Here you are, sitting by a pool, living in a beautiful neighborhood, with more than enough to eat and entertain yourself, while billions of your fellow humans suffer and are at risk for all sorts of tragedies, including the inevitable consequences of climate change.”
“You’re right,” I responded to my mysterious interlocutor. “Besides the tedium, I should and do feel guilty. Guilt, guilt, and heat. I also feel hot.” So, I got up, slipped into the pool, and began my somewhat uncoordinated swimming strokes. I had completed about two-thirds of my usual laps when a family entered the pool enclosure—a man, a woman, and two nearly adolescent girls. They seemed to carry more equipment than the pool’s size warranted and exuded a strong sense of entitlement. I was quickly forced to abandon my laps due to their splashing and floating objects, so I retreated to my shaded table to contemplate my unfulfilled life.
I decided to take a photo of myself, as I often do, with the pool and the intruders in the background. Suddenly, the woman jumped out of the pool, ran up to me, and demanded that I delete any photographs of her and her family. I quickly promised I would, although I had no intention of doing so. I then sat and wondered what had prompted her outburst. Was she afraid I was a pedophile? Worried I might post the photos on TikTok? Perhaps they were in some witness protection program? I contemplated these questions for a while, finding no satisfactory answers. Eventually, I packed up and walked back home, and it was around 4 PM.
After a brief shower and a slightly longer nap, I returned downstairs to watch the San Francisco 49ers/Denver Broncos preseason football game while Naida scurried about, searching for an electrician. I shifted my mind into neutral for the next two and a half hours.
Then, it was time for dinner and off to bed. Just one more day in the bank. As the saying goes, “Thus passes the glory of the world.”
Sunday: I usually enjoy my dreams, even the nightmares. I consider them a part of the fabric of life and memory, akin to movies or television news. However, last night’s dream was an exception. Briefly, a younger version of myself found myself in Europe on business, where I encountered an odd elderly couple. Initially, I found their oddity amusing, but soon I was surprised to run into them on my trip back home and later at my own house. I couldn’t shake them off, and their presence was no longer entertaining. I woke myself up in the hope they would disappear when I fell back to sleep, but they persisted. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to rid myself of them, I gave up, went downstairs, had a snack, and read for a bit before returning to bed. They were still there when I fell asleep again. Eventually, I resigned myself to the situation, got up, had breakfast, watched the news, and by midday, I was too exhausted to stay awake, so I trundled back to bed. To my relief, they were finally gone. Oh, happy day.
Speaking of the news of the day, it seems everyone is eagerly anticipating a movie that is expected to surpass even the popularity of “Oppenheimer,” “Godzilla,” and maybe even “Barbie” – “Hillary Destroys California.” However, I have my doubts; I anticipate it will be a flop due to poor directing, a mediocre plot, and bad casting.
I’ve noticed recently that one out of every three days leaves me feeling so out of sorts that I can barely get out of bed. Today is one of those days. So, farewell, Sunday.
Monday marks the beginning of a new week. Time is a malleable concept, depending on the observer and the subject. The first two news reports this morning were: 1. Southern California has not been swept into the sea by Hillary. 2. Republican voters in Iowa overwhelmingly believe that Donald Trump is more honest than God. It’s further evidence of the truism that at least 25% of the population anywhere will believe anything. This is also the great flaw in democracy.
Tuesday is not much better. Someone pointed out that the Iowa poll of idiocy does not reflect 25% of the country’s population but only 18%. I’m relieved to know that only 18% of the people in the country I live in are zombies. What a relief! Southern California has managed to avoid being washed into the sea. Well done, SoCal. Republicans are in a tizzy because Joe Biden petted a rescue dog during his visit to Hawaii to assess the devastation caused by the Maui fire. I think I’ll go back to bed now. Tomorrow has to be a better day.
For most of the remainder of the day, I lay in bed feeling sicker than I have been in years. My head felt like a balloon expanding and contracting with every heartbeat. The strangest part was that instead of fear, I felt shame that I couldn’t accomplish the meager tasks that others expected of me. I even dropped out of the group fighting the proposed development here in the Enchanted Forest because I couldn’t concentrate enough to review the city’s ordinances and determine the procedure for appealing a staff approval of a development.
Wednesday brought some improvement in my condition. The outside temperature was expected to reach into the high nineties. I ran a few errands in the morning and got a haircut. Naida left for the doctor to discuss the latest treatments for Alzheimer’s. My son Jason called from Italy, where he is vacationing. He complained about the heat there compared to San Francisco and described his adventures driving along the roads and byways of Sabina.
By mid-afternoon my headaches returned, so I took some Tylenol and went upstairs to bed. I suspect what I am feeling is a side effect of the progressive ossification of my inner-ear that my CT scans over the past year or so have shown. The condition appears untreatable and the most sensible advice I have found is “use a cane.”
Following the almost terminal boredom engendered by the Republican presidential debates, Naida played some Rachmaninoff on the piano. She was disappointed that she missed some of the notes. I reminded her of the Jack Benny quote the ended, “practice, practice, practice.” She huffed and we went off to bed.