STRANGE MEALS IN YOUR HEART?

“Patience never wants Wonder to enter the house: because Wonder is a wretched guest. It uses all of you but it is not careful with what is most fragile or irreplaceable. If it breaks you, it shrugs and moves on. Without asking, Wonder often brings along dubious friends: doubt, jealousy, greed. Together they take over; rearrange the furniture in every one of your rooms for their own comfort. They speak odd languages but make no attempt to translate for you. They cook strange meals in your heart that leave odd tastes and smells. When they finally go are you happy or miserable? Patience is always left holding the broom.”

—   Jonathan Carroll, White Apples

White Apples was book I started a long long time ago, finished about half of, and then gave the book away when I was reducing my library in Brooklyn. I found a library copy and it is one of the books currently floating around my fiction area, along with A Special Providence by Richard Yates, which has some first-rate writing about being a soldier in World War II, The Spinning Heart by Donal Ryan, and The Tenor Saxophonist’s Story by Josef Skvorecky. I’m not reading as much as I would like and that does not qualify as news. All these books are good, however.

All in all, I am a bit better. I woke up today in something near an equanimous mood, which has been a rarity for quite some time. My mother and I have not had a barney for about three or four days, and even the sharp words have leaned more toward a good-humored sarcasm than barely concealed resentment.

My mother should be the spokesperson for See’s Candy. She was somewhat disheartened (she wouldn’t admit to depression) on Saturday due, perhaps, to being forced (by me) to go through a large volume of papers relating to her metaphysical studies and yoga. She said she kind of wanted it to be all over. But that See's Candy might help. It was too hot to do anything. 

A couple of days later, we did make it to Sees, on another hot day. I had to go into the bank to take care of some business. After about five minutes, my mom came in to wait with me. It wasn't so much that she was hot, but that she didn't want the candy to melt. I'm sure I wouldn't have paid that much attention. 

Oh, and did I mention that it was brutally hot outside? In the mid-90s?

March 20th

Days later. In general, I would say that I am better. Although I am not usually sleeping well, I don't have real insomnia either. I woke up a few days ago and thought that I needed to get back to New York, (although I don't see that happening immediately). That was the first time that had come across loud and clear.

So, my mien is more affable these days, yet I still hit what I mentally characterize as oil spills of sadness or anxiety; they are not as deep nor terrifying, but they can make for a non-productive afternoon or evening.

I'm kind of having one now, although the causes are clear: it is end-of-the-month bill time. And I have something new to do on my little job and it is not going all that well. My immediate superior, such as he is, is a different kind of person than I am accustomed to working with. I shall persevere. 

And I did have a bite for a producing gig in New York that I might have gotten had I actually been out there. 

So I will post this and then have a lie-down as the day cools off with my mom watching Rachel Maddow and the neighbor kids bouncing that basketball while the neighborhood dogs continue their endless howling, yowling, and yipping, and the traffic surges on. 

My morning glory seeds are sprouting!