This is better, my third day in a row writing. I’m getting back in the groove. Now I just have to get back to writing in the morning. I’ll give myself a pass today as I was on the phone until 2:44 AM. No, I’m not totally anal. I just looked at my phone’s call record. Oh wait, does that make me totally anal in a different way? If so I’ll own it, as will prove important later in this entry; like Mr. Spock, I endeavor to be accurate. I’ve had only one glass of iced coffee. I might need another today, or maybe a nap. My money is on both.
What have I accomplished since yesterday? I experimented on my new dish, French fries with peanut butter as dipping sauce. As expected it works great. Next time I’ll try adding some salt to the peanut butter or maybe the fries. I season my fries before I cook them not afterward. No matter how this sounds to you, if you aren’t allergic to peanuts, give it a try. You’ll thank me.
As I eluded to before I did my phone-a-friend. It’s been an odd week; People have been calling me, but I froze up on making calls. Last night I made one of the easy ones, my midnight weekend call to Katherine. Never meant to make it a tradition but it’s when we’ve talked the last three or four times. There is some rationale to it, there aren’t many people I can safely call at 11:30 PM. As Katherine is in my regular call rotation, if I find it that kind of night, that becomes her turn. Katherine is an indexer; she writes the indices for books. I never even knew that was a profession. I love asking her questions about it. In my mind that’s quintessential me. I find an intellectual nook and I want to investigate it. We did not talk about indices until 2:44. I’m curious, not obsessive.
This morning I took care of some things I’ve been putting off. I made an appointment for my infusion on Saturday and I arranged for the Medicaid funded ride there. One reason I’ve been putting it off was that I was hoping that they would reopen the infusion center a short walk from me. It has been closed as the Moses Campus of Montefiore has been totally dedicated to treating COVID-19. It’s still closed.
I called the Board of Elections because I have not received my absentee ballot. There were 79 calls ahead of me, but I waited it out. When I finally reached the call center I was told that it should have been sent out and that I’ll have to talk to someone at my local board. He gave me her name, phone number, and extension. I called her and got voicemail. Let’s see if she gets back to me today. I might end up having to do early voting.
I come across as easygoing, or so I’ve been told. On these pages I often call for people to act peacefully and civilly to each other. I avoid inflammatory language and preach that others should do the same. I call myself a hippy dedicated to peace, love, and understanding. Those are my ideals, my lodestone, but does not reflect what goes on inside me. Internally I’m much more like this.
When I drove, I would get furious at other drivers. Now I get furious at other pedestrians, or drivers, or cyclists. It sets me off when people are inconsiderate. I will fantasize them getting their just desserts. I never do or say anything unless they try and intimidate me. That’s a trigger. I have to remind myself to de-escalate, even though that goes against my grain, and I sometimes fail and lash out.
Then there is the news. I could spend my entire life being angry at Trump. I never take a break from the news but I try to avoid reading opinion pieces on why Trump is a terrible person. I know that on my own. I don’t have to read about every outrageous tweet he makes. I concentrate on his actions, those are things we can do something about.
Facebook is a minefield. I found myself getting angry at post after post and comment after comment. I shouldn’t have to argue that it was wrong for the cop to kill Rayshard Brooks. Even more so I shouldn’t read someone comment that the only thing that the cop did was wrong was not just leaving him there and running away. Some would suggest that I simply not read this, and I wouldn’t if this was a comment that one person out of millions posted on social media; but the original post was from a friend, and the comment was by a friend’s friend.
Then I go through posts from the friends on my side of the cultural divide and get mad at the intellectual dishonesty. I don’t know if these are lies or willful ignorance, but they say things that are easily found to be forced and when confronted explain who it doesn’t matter. If it didn’t matter why did they bother to make something up? I have to keep reminding myself that it’s not my job to correct everything in the internet and to not let the anger make me turn green and gigantic. It helps to remind myself to not give in to righteous indignation over others wallowing in it. The only person’s behavior I have any say in is my own.
I am going to fall asleep any minute now, so I better post this. It was much better in my head before I started writing. That can’t be helped.
Wise Madness 