Tuesday, August 4, 2009


Sanity in the midst of madness is a bore. At least mine is. Don't get the wrong impression. I'm not bored, I'm relieved. But I cannot write interesting little essays out of whole cloth like I used to. For that you have to be out and about and out and about is part of my problem.

I've just had 3 good days, which means I have almost nothing to write about. I spent a morning's hard work on Sunday cutting down rampant grass in the small garden with the Buddha statue in it by the air conditioners and the utility meters on the outside of my fourplex [it's been a cool, wet summer here], as well as filling large flowerpots with bags of potting soil for my companion on oxygen to plant in while sitting in her walker. Big deal. Three years ago I might have been able to stretch that to three ruminating paragraphs. But no longer.

Yesterday, I went to the hardware store, the UPS mail box, the Office Supply Store, the grocery store, and Walgreen's. Too much. Getting up this morning was poisoned by the faintest new traces of a depressive cycle--the layer of voiceover dreaming was just very slightly off-color.

Unlike last week, however, when I was down to $6+ in my bank account before my SS check for August, I have OTC Ibuprofen back in my med mix.