I have made a disappointing discovery. Now matter how ready I am to write if my water bottle is empty, I can’t fill it psychically. I have to get up from my computer, go to the kitchen, and fill it. That would not be so bad if I had not previously discovered that no matter how much people say they love me they won’t come over to my house to bring me things I need. They have the ridiculous notion that it’s easier for me to get out of my comfy chair and walk all the way to the kitchen that it is for them to hop a flight to New York and bring me what I need. I just have to accept that people are selfish.
Last you heard I was going to Alan’s father’s funeral in Queens. I did not get a great night’s sleep and it’s three trains and a bus and a walk to get to the cemetery and I couldn’t get myself to do it. I felt terrible. If it was a service in a funeral home, I’d have gone. Later in the day he sent me a text that he was sitting shiva that night in Roslyn. It meant going to Penn Station and then taking LIRR, but it wasn’t in the morning and wasn’t outdoors and there was no bus so as soon as I saw that the train schedule worked, I went and I’m glad I did. If I had gone to the funeral, I’d have worn my dark suit. At the house is different. I know Alan well enough to know this would be informal. I wore shorts. I got there and he was wearing shorts too. Being able to be totally myself is one of the great things about spending time with Alan. We can say things to each other that would get us in trouble in other company. I was going to say that nothing offends us, but that’s not true. We are both highly offended at racism, COVID-19 denialism, and the like. But neither of us would think of saying anything like that. He’s also the perfect person for me to be stuck on a desert island with. He’s a vegan and I’m meatan. We don’t eat the same food. If we were stuck on a desert island, we’d both become piscivores. There’s not much protein to be found outside of fish. I did joke that Alan would eat coconuts then I’d eat Alan. I told you we don’t get offended.
Did you notice I’m being light-hearted? That was the vibe of the shiva call. I have found that to be true of many I’ve been to. Oh, I guess I shouldn’t assume everyone knows what sitting shiva means. It’s the Jewish tradition of visiting the family of the deceased. The devout sit on boxes, not chairs, because you aren’t supposed to be comfortable when you’re in mourning. You also cover the mirrors for reasons that I have forgotten. It has nothing to do with vampires, I think it has to do with avoiding vanity. The only tradition Alan, and my family, and most families I know follow is serving food. The importance of food is a part of Jewish tradition I endorse.
I checked the train schedule and Alan drove me to pick up the 9 PM train. The trip to Penn was simple. The trip from Penn to home wasn’t. I don’t know what I did. I’m supposed to take the A train from Penn to either 59th street or 125th street and switch to the D. I then found myself at 168th street on the A train. I don’t know if I got on the next A train at 59th or forgot to transfer all together I suspect that latter. I have memories of checking the train time. So, I got off at 168th and headed back down to 145th street. The D stops there too but on a different level than the A. I crossed over and went down the two levels. After waiting I bit, I checked when the next train was. The sign said 20 minutes! Then the train was late. I’m not sure how long I waited. I suspect at least half an hour. I didn’t get home until 11:30. Do you know what’s worse than being an idiot? Being an unlucky idiot. God was punishing me for not going to the funeral. Perhaps he’s punishing me for not believing he exists. Perhaps he’s punishing me for thinking that if he did exist, he wouldn’t be a petty attention hound that needs everyone to worship. That sounds more like a recent president to me than to any reasonable god. I’m going with me being unlucky.
I’ll be seeing Alan again on Thursday, we are going to the Met game. If you think that’s wrong of him, you’re wrong. His father would want him to be happy. He wants to be happy. Forcing yourself to forego pleasure for the sake of foregoing pleasure doesn’t help anyone. I applaud him for doing it and not worrying about the possible censure of others.
Wise Madness 