Sometimes, I imagine what the lady on the yellow bicycle would look like, if she had a bun in the oven. I think of how she would glow and be full of life and excitement. I think of how happy and healthy she would likely be. I would like to see her that way, even if it did make it a little harder to ride the bike for a while.
We talk about it, sometimes. Usually not for very long, and usually not very seriously. There was a time, a few years back, when we were both satisfied with the idea of just the two of us being together, and not ever having any kids at all. As time has passed, it seems that we have been learning to trust ourselves, and each other, and our relationship, and perhaps even the world a little bit. Now, the idea of bringing a child into the world is not nearly as disturbing and even abhorrent as it once was. Now, when we talk about it, there's more of a "maybe someday" feel to the idea, rather than our previous, "no fuckin' way in hell!" I think that we are beginning to believe that we might actually be able to be decent to a child.
One of the biggest impedements to the idea for me has always been the fact that I've already got some kids, and I watched every single one of them be stolen away from me, by their own mothers. This has been a source of pain for me, for a very long time. It has made me very reluctant to even consider ever having more children. I know that it has also been very painful and detrimental to the kids, and I have been loathe to risk the possibility of putting any more children through that kind of pain.
What has finally begun to change it for me is realizing that the vows we made are going to hold this time. Knowing that we are going to continue to do whatever it takes to keep our marriage together, and to continue to be good to each other, throughout our lives, is making me feel much more comfortable with the idea of having children together. I am beginning to know that, if we do decide to have children, they will have two parents who love each other and who will give them a strong example of how to have a solid, loving relationship. I am well aware that it takes more than just that to give a child a healthy upbringing, but that, all by itself, is a pretty strong advantage that quite a few kids miss out on, these days. My other kids have not all had that, and I have always felt that that was one of the many ways in which I let them down. If we have more kids, I know that I cannot promise a safe or sensible world or life, but I feel secure in promising them a mom and a dad who live in the same house and love each other, and love them. That seems like a good start.
I'm guessing that there will be at least another child someday, and maybe even two. No promises, though. We're still pretty damn happy with it just being us. We have a lot of fun, even though we're pretty broke, most of the time. All I'm saying is that I don't think anybody should be too shocked if we decide to add another contribution to the six billion-plus souls that are already here.
The sound of traffic on a rain-wet street.
Mostly, the road is quiet, and that, itself, is strange.
When a car goes by, I notice it, which is unusual for this place. More often, traffic is so constant on our street that I am more likely to notice a break in the traffic. It is a noisy place to live, but not much worse than our previous home, in that respect.
Sometimes, it is difficult to block out the sounds of the vehicles. Like anything else, though, we get used to it. We humans are still adaptable. Still, I wonder if we can adapt quickly enough.
We are creating a world, right here on our own world. It is as if this gorgeous and fascinating planet wasn't enough, and we somehow feel a need to improve upon it. I don't know how much of our changes are truly improvements. Sure, I've got this fancy keyboard and computer, and it is tied into this fancy worldwide network of computers, but does that somehow make life better than it was fifty, or a hundred, or a thousand years ago? I am really not so sure about that.
I know we also have very fancy medical equipment and techniques, but, since I chose to pay for a computer, I am not one of the privileged few who has access to those medical services, anyway. If I get sick enough, I will die, just the same as I would have a thousand years ago.
There is a little plastic and metal box near my computer. I press a button on the front of this box, and noise magically comes out of it. It might be people talking, or it might be any number of different styles of music. This box makes noise almost all the time when I am home. It is almost as if I am afraid of quiet. I have just now reached over and pressed the button to make the noise stop. It was hard to do, and only partly because I was hearing a very beautiful piece of music. There was a recording of a piano concerto being played, and I was really enjoying it. I turned it off, though, because I realized that I needed to hear the world better.
I have so, so far to go. There is so much to think, and to say, and to do, and to write. It is hard to imagine how I might possibly do anything worthwhile with this life, much less enough, or as much as I want to do. Briefly, last night, I saw myself in a mirror, and was somehow reminded that I am still capable of anything. It was good to remember that. It is still difficult to know which thing to do next, but I do know that I still have dreams to fulfill.
As an aside, I wish to mention that life is not all about making memories. They are precious, and important, and a part of it all, but they are not the main point. The main point is to live every moment. The memories are simply a beautiful and beneficial side effect of living life. The living is the thing.
Also, see "Whale Rider." You'll be glad you did.
It's been a few days of work and play
And in my mind, I've been away.
There's probably not a lot to say,
So I'm here typing, anyway.
Only yesterday, we were at the fair,
And if you were lucky, you saw us there.
Our cloth was fine and our wit was rare,
And we spent our money like we hadn't a care.
The day before, I did a show,
Like I often do, as I'm sure you know.
To the chamber concert, the Koreans did go,
And listened to Mozart, Schumann and Cho.
The day before that was an Indian dance,
But was really more like karaoke's last chance.
We watched some kids lip-synch and prance,
And I kicked out a guy on the seat of his pants.
The days go by and we do some stuff.
Some days seem easy and some days seem rough.
I finally know what I just used to bluff,
And somehow it all seems just barely enough.
As always, there does not seem to be enough time to do all the things that need to be done. Even writing here, as important as it is, takes time away from other tasks. Still, we have the good fortune to still be alive to do what we can.
Not everyone still has that option.
We hear almost daily about people all around the world who lose their lives to violence. It is difficult to believe that these little scribbles mean anything at all, while I know that these things are happening.
Still, those of us who remain must continue to do what we can, whether a little or a lot, to help make the world better for everyone. What can we do about people who are willing to kill themselves in order to kill other people? It is difficult to understand what someone is trying to accomplish, when they are willing to kill both themselves and the people with whom tey are apparently having the disagreement. We can make our guesses, but, with all the participants dead, who really benefits?
So, in the face of all this confusion, I will persevere by going to work today, and help build and fix some theatre equipment, so that we can have more entertainment. That should help.
One of the most important lessons in learning to live well is how to handle one's personal power. Very few people actually realize that they have this, but this is something that truly is inherent in our human condition. We are all born with this power, but we are all aware how rare it is for any of us to truly realize our dreams in life. There are many reasons that are given for these failures of our dreams, and certainly some of these reasons might be somewhat valid, but the primary reason that most people's dreams don't come true really comes down to the fact that most of us really don't believe in our own personal power. If we really trusted our power, we would follow through on our dreams, and we would discover that we truly can make them real. Through this, instead of the loneliness and emptiness that most of us seem to struggle with, we would find that happiness and fulfillment that we all desire.
It is easy to scribble out a paragraph or a page, and talk about how simple it is to change our attitudes and thus change our lives. It seems, from the plethora of titles in the "Inspirational" and "Self-help" sections in the bookstores, that it might even be pretty easy to whip out a book or three about how people can change their lives. Easier still to read these things. Strange, though, how rarely these things actually change our lives. I know the titles sell, because publishers keep printing them, and bookstores keep ordering them. These things would not occur if so many of us did not buy them. The books get written, and read, but are they really making a difference? Are people becoming happier in themselves? Are they finding that sense of satisfaction and fulfillment that seems to be missing from so many lives? My sense is that most of these books get written and read, and that they do some good, but, after we've made a bit of progress in the direction we desire, we tend to slip back toward the patterns that have been governing our lives since long before any particular piece of writing came to our attention.
There are most definitely forces and events in each of our lives that interfere with the realization of our personal power. Whether it be the lack of appropriate direction and support from parents and teachers in childhood, or actual physical disruption of our lives, in terms of beatings, or sexual molestations, or verbal attacks, or even hateful looks, we have all experienced events which have caused us to believe that our power is limited or even nonexistent. This is a misperception that we all come by naturally. Feeling these attacks or losses, or even the lack of direction from those we are counting on, causes a person to imagine that he or she does not matter, and also that one has no way to alter one's own situation. Certainly, many people are raised with caring and love in their childhood homes, but even in these homes, there are limits constantly being placed on the children. From these constant reinforcements and reminders of limitations, we begin to believe that we are not powerful. While some of these limits make a certain amount of sense, for the most part, it is highly preferable that a child be encouraged to excersize his or her power. We can all find more than enough limits throughout life on our own. Better for parents to encourage their children to believe in their dreams, and to help them believe in those dreams and in themselves.
As you already know, this is not what usually happens. Much more often, dreams are laughed at and ridiculed, and not believed. If you want your children to learn to be happy individuals, one of the greatest gifts you can give them toward that end, is to believe in their dreams. They will sense that belief, and they will not only love you for it and be grateful, their power will grow, and they will find ways to change the world for the better.
My dream is to continue this topic at another time. Until then, I bid you fulfillment, and I believe in your dream. Have a fun day!
Today's adventure will mostly be 300 ladies singing. I've worked with this group before; The Melodeers. It should be fun.
Actually, though, a lot of the fun I'm having these days has to do with typing words into the eyeBook. Obviously, I'm not writing books for a living yet, but I am writing, and I am living, so I'm still moving in the right direction. It's a slow journey - much, much slower than I thought it would be - but things are fun and interesting, and I am actually writing again. As has happened before, when I'm actually writing regularly, I am more satisfied with who I am and with what I am doing with my time.
The fact that I've gotten a few actual letters sent in the mail this week helps, too. I've always meant to send letters to people, but so often I talk myself out of it. This week, I finally just went ahead and wrote them and sent them off. It is a very good feeling to have sent these. I highly recommend it.
Also, I've been sending quite a few e-mails regarding some recent sailing and tall ships adventures that we've had. Some people have been greatly appreciating them, so that, too, has been very satisfying. Those stories will be included on the website fairly soon. I need to write one more chapter for that story, and I will most probably do that during my break times today.
I am well aware that these little "blogarhythms" don't really matter to anyone but myself, but that, too, is okay. If I am wrong, and you are enjoying these things, then I am pleased. Still, all this is a just a little journal for me, and it is mostly just a way to keep the writing going for me. In that sense, it has started to become very effective. In terms of its value to anyone else, I suspect that it is pretty limited. Still, there have been some fun and interesting stories included here, as well, so even this is not useless.
And now, I have begun my day with writing, and I will do more before the day is out. Have a good day, and leave the light on, if you can.
Okay, so I'm not quite as committed to this as I had thought I was going to be. Still, I don't feel like I'm letting anyone down - I never promised that it was going to be a daily thing, and the whole point of it was just to get myself writing regularly again, and that does seem to be happening, so I think it's working. An additional point to this was so that I would be using the website more, and that is happening, too, so actually things are going pretty well on that score. And here's an entry for today, so I'll be able to feel like I've accomplished at least a little something with my day.
The lady with the yellow bike and I got some bad news yesterday. The day before yesterday, we had accepted a job as props designers for Lookingglass Theatre in Chicago. We were pretty excited about this, because they called us out of the blue and said that they had lost their previous designer and that they wanted us. We rearranged our schedules and turned down some other work offers and took the job. Then, yesterday afternoon, around ten minutes after five o'clock, their production manager called me and said that someone they had originally wanted as a props designer had suddenly become available and so she would have to "renig on the offer." We were and are rather upset and disappointed with them. It's not good business practice to hire people them and then fire them the next day just because a buddy happens to come back into town. We will be letting our contacts know that Lookingglass is not to be trusted.
Even though we've lost the prospect of that work, and a sizeable fee for it, we are still in good shape. Work and money still look very promising for the coming year, and we are still hopeful about getting on the Amara Zee tour. We also have plenty to keep us busy, these days.
Currently, we are working on plans and designs for "Soft Target" at Chicago Dramatists Workshop. This play is going very well for us, and we are making progress on it every day. We are also looking forward to doing some remodelling work in their space, so our other prospects are still looking very good.
I've been writing a bit more, these past few weeks. These blogarhythms have been helping, and I've also been writing some letters, and also a little travelogue regarding our recent tall ships visits. This, too, is pleasing to me. I have much, much more that I wish to be writing, but it does seem that I am making some progress.
This is enough for this morning. I will add more soon. Have a fun day.
I've been writing e-mails for something like the past eight hours. If you want a story, get on the Tall Ships Tour Group.
Have a good night. I'll write to you soon.
It does actually feel like we are on vacation these days. True, the lady with the yellow bicycle worked for a few hours today, and we will both work a fairly full day tomorrow, but, overall, we are working much less than usual, so far this month. We are trusting that we have submitted some acceptable bids to some local theatres for a little remodelling work. If we don't get those jobs, we may have a very tricky time at the end of the month.
In the meantime, however, we are behaving as if we were on holiday, as they say back in the old country. We've gone sailing, and we've been to visit some tall ships, and we went to a movie about pirates, and, just tonight, we went to see a play. This was actually the third play we've seen in less than six months. Considering how few plays we've gone to over the years, it is almost startling that we have managed to go out and see these.
It is also very gratifying, since each of the plays that we've gotten to see has been absolutely wonderful. I'm finding it somewhat strange to realize that two of the plays dealt very much with the concepts of "supermarket tabloids" and the materials presented therein. Tonight's was one example of that. It was called, "Trust Me on This."
This play is based on the book of the same title by Donald E. Westlake. The stage adaptation was written by our friend and occasional boss, Alan Donahue. It was directed by Dorothy Milne and starred Katie McLean and William Smillie. It was written for and presented at the Lifeline Theatre in Chicago.
For those of you who may decide to read the book, I will share very little of what we saw tonight. The story is set in the fictional world, so says author Westlake, of the "Weekly Galaxy," which the audience quickly comes to realize is a tabloid newspaper of what some might call "questionable journalistic integrity." While one might think that such a setting would be ridiculous, it does not take long to realize that the offices of those types of publications might be very much like what we saw depicted on stage. It must be a very strange world, peopled with characters that one would never expect to actually encounter in life, but who must exist, since these publications are a regular staple at just about every grocery store checkout counter in the country. I have actually glanced at a couple of these publications from time to time, and they seem so easy to just laugh off. It was worthwhile to remember tonight, that if these papers did not sell, they would not continue to receive such an honored place, right next to where we part with our money. Somebody - rather: many somebodies - are buying and reading these papers. More frightening still: people are believing what they read in them.
"Trust Me on This" gives us a slight taste of what producing one of these papers might be like. Westlake states that the activities that take place in his fictional paper are required to remain within the limits of plausibility. He also mentions that, if there were such a newspaper as the "Weekly Galaxy," the "activities would be stranger, harsher, and more outrageous than those described herein." With that in mind, the strange, harsh, and outrageous acts we witnessed tonight become rather sobering, indeed.
Still, Westlake, Donahue, Milne, and the entire company presented a story that was not actually disturbing in the least, but actually rather delightful. It is only in hindsight that I find myself somewhat troubled at what tonight's play suggested about the tabloid newspaper business. It made me think that there is a lot more going on than just a few goofballs sitting around, smoking a few hooters, and making up this week's gag about Martians. There is serious money at stake in this business, and that means that some people will take it very seriously.
I wouldn't mind if "Pith" had circulation numbers like the "Weekly Galaxy," but we haven't been able to get pictures of Walter Mondale's alien love child yet.
Stay tuned.
It seems to me that it has taken quite a long time, but perhaps things are moving exactly as quickly as is needed. It is not mine to know or to judge how long things should take. I would have thought I was ready for something like this long ago, but I think that maybe the world wasn't ready.
The world is ready now, and so am I. Oh, and the lady with the yellow bicycle, too.
I think we won't be riding the bikes very much, though, when this starts. We will miss that. We will put our bikes in storage, and quite a lot of our other possessions, as well. I expect that we will be giving a fair amount away, and maybe selling some, too. There will likely be some thrown away, also.
And why this sudden need to start travelling lighter? Well, beyond the fact that that's what I've been desiring for quite a number of years is the fact that, next spring, the lady with the yellow bicycle and I will very likely be aboard a sailing ship, putting on shows in numerous ports around North America.
It's been an interesting week.
A couple of months ago, I discovered that Chicago regularly hosts a Tall Ships Festival. This year's was bigger than any previous year. Before this, they would have perhaps four, or at most, six, tall sailing ships come into Navy Pier. This year, there were about 22 ships.
When I discovered this festival, and the fact that there would be a ship that actually put on a stage show while in port, I wrote e-mails to several friends, and asked them to join us in touring the ships. We did get a couple of people to go along with us, but most ended up skipping it. I sure hope they all had cool stuff to do, because we really had a blast.
There is so much to record about this week, but for now, I will just mention that we saw the ships twice in Chicago, and then got a dinner invitation on one of the ships, and joined them in Kenosha. ("Now Also In Kenosha!") (Remind me to tell you that story sometime, too.) After an excellent dinner of brown trout, and a strange introduction to the crew, we were allowed to assist in the get-up of the show, "The Red Tides." We ended up working the show more than watching it, but it was a great experience, nonetheless. Afterwards, we helped with the strike, and were saying our "thanks" and "good-byes" when the captain and producer told us that he would like us to join his crew next March, for their next season of sailing and shows.
So we will be travelling light.
Because we and the world are ready.
It may take many generations to fix what we have broken. So many people do not even realize how badly we have messed up our world, and how we are continuing to do so. Soon, I will begin ennumerating at least some of our errors.
For today, I would just like to suggest this one helpful idea: let's all stop killing each other.
We got some books about sailing, and we went to Hooligans'. Some lady offered to buy my hat. Other stuff happened.
For years the water called
As though the water cares whether we ride it or not
Still, we felt the call, and went.
Just as it has for ages unknown, the water accepted its riders.
We sailed as though we belonged.
It was too brief, like life.
We will go again, and longer.
She is a young woman. There is not much more that I know about her. I couldn't even tell you for sure if she is alive or dead, although I suspect that I would know if she had died. Otherwise, I'm not allowed to know.
But today is her birthday. I'm pretty sure that she turns seventeen today. It's been so many years since I've spoken to her or heard about her that I have actually lost track. I am ashamed of myself for that, but that is how it is. She is a teenager and a young woman and I miss her terribly.
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We are going sailing today. There has been much about ships and shows this week, and there is much more of that happening in the coming days and weeks and months and years. I will tell you more about all that when time allows.
For today, just know that we are on a boat, and thinking about Amanda.
Happy birthdays to you all.
The lady with the yellow bike and I will leave our bikes at home today, and ride the trains down to the boats this afternoon. WeÕll be looking for a few of our friends along the lakefront in Chicago, and weÕll be getting on a few more ships.
After boarding a few ships, we will enjoy the sunset, and then watch the ÒRed TidesÓ show aboard the Amara Zee again. We saw this show three nights ago - Thursday night - and it was an amazing spectacle. These people turned their ship into a floating stage, and created an awesome display of light, sound, acrobatics, singing, speaking, music and dance. Using many of the most modern theatre technologies, they created an unforgettable experience of the oldest of humanityÕs arts: that of storytelling. We were treated to beautiful voices, stunning costumes, and impressive feats of skill and agility.
Sadly, they needed to borrow some microphones from a local supplier, and these did not work as intended, so some of the story and song was lost. We are confident that that issue has been fixed since then, and are looking forward to an even more rewarding experience this evening.
One of my favorite features of this production is the fact that these folks truly believe in the accessibility of the arts, and put their show on for free every night. They gratefully accept donations, of course, but they donÕt even make a request for it at any time throughout the evening. You actually have to bother to read the program to discover that donations are accepted. I found that particular aspect to be refreshingly generous and honorable. I highly recommend giving these folks as least as much as you would pay to see the finest dance, play or opera at the fanciest venue in town. It is indeed worth that much, and more.
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Our own shows have been interesting in their own rights, this week. Last night and the night before, we helped create a teenage girlsÕ beauty pageant. ThatÕs really all I care to say about that.
We are also designing, building and creating several other shows this summer and fall, and indeed, throughout the coming year. Most - I daresay almost all of them - will be more worthwhile than the beauty pageants of the past couple of weekends. Still, we even get paid to help turn peopleÕs church services into rock-n-roll shows. It is not ours to judge how people want to spend their money. We just find out what kind of show they want, and we do our best to give it to them. Sometimes itÕs a pageant, and sometimes itÕs church, and sometimes itÕs really good theatre.
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The lady with the yellow bike is on her way home. IÕll tell you more tomorrow.
There were so many things I wanted to write about yesterday, and so many more that I wish to write today. In order to get some bills paid, however, I was at work for about 16 hours yesterday, and I will be there for a similar length of time today. This does not allow for much time for writing.
Tomorrow, the lady with the yellow bike and I will go see the Tall Ships again. Monday, we will go sailing, for the first time in years for either of us, and our very first time together. So much is happening these days. We are learning so much, and there is an amazing amount to share.
Just finding the energy to go to work and do my job is a challenge, though. Finding more to tell the stories is even harder. I will do my best.
I walked on water yesterday. Of course, I was walking on wood that was floating on the water at the time, but the persistence of my godhood was still strangely reinforced.
So. The dreams. They do come true.
That's not always a good thing.
Often, when we talk about dreams coming true, we're referring to fulfilling the desires of our grand imaginations. Sometimes, though, the dreams are nightmares.
Why I am telling you about this? Because I look to my left and see my bookshelf full of spiral-bound pages, and I realize how normal I am. I've been buying these books for decades. I've still got my first journals from junior high school. My English teachers loved me. The assignment was to get a notebook, and add at least two entries a week. I had no trouble adding several entries, even every day, sometimes.
I don't think very much of it was worth reading. I've opened up some of those early journals occasionally, and what little bit I can stand reading usually seems rather pathetic. I suppose I judge it pretty harshly, considering some of it is the writing of a twelve year-old. Even at twelve, though, I had very high expectations of myself and my writing.
There will come a time when I tell about how and why I started writing, and why I came to love it so. For now, though, just know that, by the time I was ten years old, I was absolutely certain that all I wanted to do with my life was to be a writer. Since then, I've done many, many things, and very few of them have had anything to do with writing. That fact eats away at me every day.
This is not to say that I have entirely wasted my time, but I certainly did not follow the path that I thought I was going to when I was ten.
Thinking upon that, though, makes me realize that that is probably true of most of us. What do we really know of life, and how ours will be, when we are ten?
And how much of my life do you really want to know? You have your own life, with dreams and plans that have come true, and others that have not. Mine is no different.
We all have stories to tell. That has always been true. We are a story race. Sometimes, that seems like the whole point.
And now it is time for me to do my next thing, so I will continue this later. Thanks for your patience.
This world produces miracles on demand, if one only knows how to recognize them.
We all have our childhood dreams. Most of us believe that, as we grow, we let those dreams go, but if we've dreamed hard enough, the world has adjusted itself to our dreams. Some of the dreams are easy. If a kid idolizes his dad, and wants "to be just like him," in most cases, that's exactly what happens.
Sometimes, our dreams are quite as simple as that.
Imagine how many people heard about or read Albert Einstein. Thousands of young people wished to emulate him. Notice now, how much more room there is in our world for scientists, mathematicians, and free thinkers.
That's dreams coming true.
I biked over to Lake Michigan tonight. In front of me was a woman on a yellow bicycle, with baskets over the back tire and a scarf on her head. Her bicycle is an old three-speed, which ticks constantly, whenever she is in motion. I think she is in love with that bike.
I got it for her for Mother's Day a few years ago. I was delivering a pizza to a very fancy party at a very fancy house. I was instructed to go to the garage door. While I waited for the money, I glanced around the garage and noticed many new, flashy bicycles. I also saw, hung up high on hooks, an old-fashioned, yellow, three-speed model. When my customer finally came out, I mentioned that I knew someone who had been looking for such a bike. My customer told me that it had been his mother's, and that they were intending to dispose of it. I offered him twenty bucks for it, and asked if I could pick it up the next day, when I wasn't working. He said no problem.
I showed up the next day, and he had the bike down and waiting for me. I got my money out, and he said, "Don't worry about it." I looked at his two acres, and his house that filled almost a quarter of that, and didn't.
I took the bike, and gave it to the woman. She smiles every time she rides it, even though she has to stand up off the seat, and pedal like the devil to get up a hill. Sometimes, I even feel a little lazy and guilty when I shift gears on my cheap old ten-speed. It's good to watch her ride.
Tonight, we rode mostly because I needed to. I had cooked a snow goose with cranberries and carrots for dinner, and she brought home a delicious Italian loaf. We were so full that only thing that made sense to do next was to take a nap. Since I could not afford to lose the whole evening, I suggested that we go for a ride. I almost ended up going alone, but she doesn't get to ride nearly as much as she'd like to, so she decided to come with me.
It ended up being a wonderful trip. We headed east, toward the lake, and learned many new paths and parks in our newest little suburb. It was a little amusing, as well as a little disquieting, to discover that we actually have a beach specifically for dogs, and that the dogs owners pay for the privilege of allowing their dogs to frolic in the sand and the water. Weird world.
Also on this ride, we got to see some of the ships that are arriving for Chicago's "Tall Ships Festival," which begins tomorrow, and runs through Monday. We only saw three of the tall ships, but they were all beautiful, and they each made us want to be living on the water.
Someday, we shall.
Most years, we try to get to the Bristol Renaissance Faire at least once. I don't know if that's going to happen this year. What little work we seem to be getting seems to be coming all on the weekends.
We've talked about taking a railroad tour of the country, sort of as a honeymoon, and sort of as a way to see parts of the family. That hasn't happened, but that's okay. It's a pretty ambitious plan, and will take a certain level of commitment to pull it off. For one thing, we would have to turn down work, which is pretty tough for us to do.
I went to Disneyland when I was about 13, I think. It sucked.
There was some hope of going horseback riding, but that is looking less likely. With home-hunting and moving, I don't think there's going to be a lot of time available for that sort of thing.
We may yet go sailing, and, this week, we will probably get to the Tall Ships Festival.
After that, maybe I'll get a job keeping people from hanging out in front of the drugstore.
My chest feels a little tight, but no pain that I've noticed so far. I spent a little bit
of time outside on the front porch yesterday. Perhaps what passes for fresh air around here
helped. Or perhaps there's no work to avoid today, so there's no reason to not feel well.
You are not expected to care. Hell, I don't even really care.
It's more of the same, plus a little coughing, and just a tiny amount of blood in the mucus. I've cut back on the cigarettes, but I haven't stopped. I may yet.
We haven't found a new place yet, but we will. It's just too uncomfortable to sit in the living room, and look out on the front porch, and see those people looking back at me. Just knowing that they don't want us here is bad enough; when I see them actually looking at me while I try to read my book, it becomes completely intolerable. I honestly found their gazes invasive.
Still, this is just more whining. I'm well aware that there are people all over the world involved in wars, and are truly fighting for their lives. I'm just struggling to pay my bills and keep my commitments. I have promised to build or manage more than a dozen shows in the coming twelve months. Moving right now definitely gets in the way of that, but there doesn't seem to be any help for it. It must be done, so we will do it. Otherwise, we live where we are not wanted. Neither of us is up for that.
We will find a place where we are welcomed. And then we will buy some land, and build a
home of our own.
Five days of pain.
I don't know how to deal with pain. It is very disappointing to find out that I am such a wimp. I have spent so many years thinking that I was all rugged and tough. Even though I cannot afford it, I called my boss at work yesterday, and told him that I would not be able to work this weekend.
As the day went on, yesterday, the pain subsided, until I thought that I might be able to work today. It was still with me last night, but it was small enough that I thought that the worst of it was past, and that I would be able to handle it. When I woke up this morning, though, I was very glad that I had called him and asked him to get someone to cover me at the theatre this weekend. I woke up from the pain, and it was just as bad as yesterday.
My wife tells me that she thinks it might be a "panic attack," or somehow stress- or anxiety-related. I will admit to a certain amount of stress and anxiety. I would not have thought that I was panicking, but that is certainly not out of the question. Learning that we are being asked to find a new place to live, when we thought that we had a full year to go on our lease is certainly causing me a noticeable amount of anxiety. I'm surprised that I would have such a physical reaction to it, though.
I'm used to losing housing. I've been kicked out of more places than I even remember. It started with my mother, and to a much lesser extent my step-father, when I was about thirteen years old. My mother threw me out of the house numerous times, mostly for the crime of noticing that she was drunk. Since then, I started learning how to not count on a home.
Finally, after a decade or two of losing rooms and apartments, usually for much more legally sound reasons, I eventually started learning how to not get kicked out of places. Regularly paying rent helps. Some places like to see a certain amount of cleanliness as well, but that doesn't seem nearly as critical as those payments.
So, I finally got good at paying rent, and have been managing to keep my homes for much longer periods of time. The apartment that we had before this one, we actually kept for about four and-a-half years. We left that one because the landlord kept cutting down the trees, and having his workers clean the basement with multiple gallons of toxic chemicals.
We needed to move to a healthier place, and preferably one that was closer to our various places of employment. We thought that we had found the right place. We found out this week that we were wrong.
I suppose that some people might find it strange that we would be so concerned about a "healthy" place, considering that we both smoke about a pack of cigarettes a day. It is basically our one vice. Otherwise, we are model tenants. We are quiet, we are pleasant, we are respectful, we are clean. We work hard and we pay our rent on time. We are decent and we keep to ourselves. We play our music softly, and we don't fight. We drink only rarely - perhaps twice or thrice a year - and only get quietly tipsy maybe one of those times. We're pretty nice folks to have around.
Unfortunately for us, we also smoke. We know that it is unhealthy, but it is an addiction that we are not ready to give up. We live what we think most people would admit are pretty stressful lives. We usually don't know, from one month to the next, where we'll be working, nor how much. We have been constantly behind on our bills, since before we even met each other, and we've been together for more than seven years, now (and going along very strong, thanks very much). We have very, very few friends, and our family connections are not always what one might wish. Those connections have been improving for the past couple of years, but, for most of our lives, neither of us has had any family we could count on, and thus, no real support system at all. When we've lost our homes, our jobs, our friends, or our pets, we've only had each other. Before we had each other, we didn't have much more than our smokes. We use our cigarettes as a stress-reliever. We find smoking to be a pleasant way to relax, at least a little bit, in lives that do not seem very relaxing to us.
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7:45a
I felt so ashamed, sending her off to work alone just now. We were both scheduled, and should both have gone in. I know very well that I could not have done my job properly in this condition, but it is still shameful. She has been dealing with much more pain, for many more years, than I have. I feel weak and ashamed.
I will clean the house, and look for a new place today. That will not make up the lost
income, but at least I won't feel quite so useless.
The pain is very scary. Three days ago, it didn't hurt. Two days ago, it hurt to yawn or sneeze. Yesterday, it hurt to breathe deeply. Today, it hurts to breathe.
I don't know what else I should expect. I've been smoking for something like thirty years now. Probably more. I was a pretty young kid when I started. I've smoked about a pack a day, that whole time.
I've been healthy. I've been incredibly lucky in my health, except for just in the last couple of years. I've started to get sick much more easily and much more frequently. I didn't connect it to the smoking. They have not been breathing-related illnesses.
My plan was to get up in about four hours. I'm still exhausted, and would much rather be sleeping. Instead, here I am, in pain and afraid. The slightest breath feels like a large knife is slicing open the right side of my chest.
I think I may have done myself some pretty serious damage, this time.