Feeling quite lousy, although it's all in my head. Somehow being in Los
Angeles brings back my grief for David's death, which happened in
November (six years ago). At one point on Monday I passed the hospital
where he died, not intentionally, but there it was. Also a year ago today
my cat Boris was found dead (by P - he'd been living with them at the
beach for years) so I feel his loss, too. Adding to the gloomy feel
is the weather - gray with scattered showers - and the wind is COLD!
I've fallen into one of those dim phases of recollection,
focusing on single tragic episodes years in the past - usually
some boneheaded, inappropriate behavior blunder - an action (or
inaction) of my own which, if preformed
differently <1>,
would've made me truly happy then, and thus my whole life afterwards
would be different-better and I'd be truly happy now. In other
words I'm increasing my misery by dwelling on past mistakes. Do others
do this too, or am I specific and unique in my mental illness? According
to Spalding Gray, journals are useful here: one records the precise
feelings at the time; they're an assistance later when, looking back,
regret is rendered invalid when full memory of the true feelings of
those past moments is recalled. (Or something.) Intellectually I
know I'm being ridiculous, that it's history, and things would've
wound up pretty much the same no matter what had happened, and
so what anyway.
Finally finished Under The Volcano - I try to read one certified
"great book" every year, and this time it was that saga of Hugh, Yvonne,
and Geoffrey the alcoholic Consul: Mexico and the Day of the Dead in the
shadows of Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl. Interesting, but way too wordy.
I can tell this "Berlin Noir" trilogy I've started (gumshoe antics by Philip
Kerr, set in 1936 Berlin) will be the more usual speedy read. My nominal
rate of book absorption is a novel every week or two.
Walking around outside, en route to my apartment building's exterior
laundry-machine niche, I inhale the rich smell of wood smoke in the very
brisk air, as a CalTrain whistle moans softly in the distance. I breathe
in the sweet air, gazing up at the near-full moon overhead, and I think
about how the old name is coming back into use: this place where I live
now used to be called the "Valley Of Heart's Delight". The new awareness
is perhaps due, in part, to David Beers' Blue Sky Dream. Back in
the early 1950s Silicon Valley was full of blossoming fruit trees, like
plums and cherry, but the orchards were all cut down for suburban development.
Links of the day: