Zip, nada, and allthat
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Subject:Zip, nada, and allthat
Date: Fri, 29 Oct 1999 13:52:39 CDT
A windy day in Lawrence, Kansas, the leaves presenting their plane surfaces to the afternoon and dancing off in a perfect Newtonian frenzy. My kinda day, ya might say.
I rode from JavaBreak to the Library and then through the park. 4 preteen girls had their heads together, their butts pointing out in an illustration of the four corners of the earth, as I rode by. I thought of Rockwell and what he would do with such a thing. He might well call it, "The Secret." And then Jethro Tull came crashing in, and the line "watching the pretty panties run" sang by me. That kind of day.
A sheet of paper was caught by the wind and twisted itself to present a full frontal view, only to immediately compress and twirl into something else. The world swirled by me thusly, little points of leaves scurrying along the pavement, scratching, then being caught by the wind and tossed into flurrying patterns I could not catch nor discern.
I saw MikeBell this morning as I was riding the levee to town. He had his head down and might well have passed me by had I not called out his name and brought his bike screeching to a halt. Not feeling well, I told him, and may not go out today.
Mindy seemed distracted and distant today, charging me full price for the coffee. And Liz came in, big-titted with a ring in her eyebrow, looking for all that I could see like some kind of rusting anachronism. I listened, as always.
Ned, at the next table, was going on and on about his scholarship in Latin, and I took an immediate dislike to him. Mindy appeared to be hanging on his every word, so I assume there is some kind of pater-type jealousy. Eventually I asked him about Koine Greek, and he ran home immediately and brought back an Interlinear NT which he would not sell to me.
I went across the street and found a hardback, twenty-some bucks, and put it on hold. Will pick it up Monday and begin that sullen quest which I have resisted like Jonah (listening, Dalila?) for so many years. This is the winter of my discontent, when once again I am discontented yet hiding within the discipline of Koine Greek.
Am in a strange place, so bear with me. Feel totally unable to respond at this time to personals, yet feel the need to receive them. Feeding time. Being healed time.
Last night I sat at the picnic bench at Sarah's and listened to Monte talk of life and love. He's 50ish and feels as lost as so many of you seem to feel. Why is this so?
Today I feel...(let me fill in the blanks)....okay. Lost. Found. Kinky. Hated. Perhaps. Maybe. Otherwise. Irrelevant. Concuspiscent. Sated. Aroused. Bored.
My daughter writes that her mother wants to send me a letter. I have not responded. What is there to say? K always writes these guilt-trip things and I have had it with that. I will *not* go back to Canada, she is not in my life to nurse me through my old age, and I want her to find her own *real* love. So...what is there to say? I don't wish to be rude...just that it's...over. We came together to produce three lovely children. Beyond that, the language/cultural barrier is simply too great.
I am sick of talking. Are you also sick of reading?
Dickens
