#295

Each time I reread all the Calvin and Hobbes, I reflect upon how precious little philosophic and literary work has ever really done more for me than reinforce and enrich what is contained within its aggregate panels. In his comic strip, Mr. Watterson covers the full human range. It's all in there, and if you don't believe me, read it again. 

Not reading Calvin and Hobbes at this precise moment. Just thinking about it, as one does on a Sunday morning. 

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Thank you, beloved domesticated feline, for your contributions to this humble blog.

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Monday morning, now. I'd hoped to generate more thoughts about whatever in order to feel this entry complete, to experience that round, alloyed sensation of the post being done. This did not happen. Sunday got real lazy. Well, I took some more stuff off the apartment walls and did the dishes, which is not nothing. It's not a lot, either. There was plenty more stuff to do which I did not, and that trend continues even as I type.

The apartment space empties slowly, and the new house fills slowly. We painted our room (two tones of green, for peace and headache soothing) and Ezra's office (his preferred bright yellow, for energy and focus [I can't be long in there, as such yellow saturation tends to give me headaches]). Well, Ezra and his mom painted his office, and did most of the work on the room. I helped some in there. Mostly, I've moved objects, largely books. All that remains in the apartment is the several books I'm reading currently and the nonfiction stacks. My office/bookroom was once some form of giant closet, with a degree of built-in shelving. My plan is to paint many symbols in black and gold and silver on the shelves and flat ceiling. This, combined with all my books, the art to be hung on the sloping part of the ceiling (the second floor is seemingly a converted attic, so our room and the bookroom have that triangular shape upper-story rooms sometimes have) and the objects that can be housed there should make for a room of great power and strong magic. Hope it's the place where I finish all my current projects and many more.

There's so much fucking work to do, though. Transforming the yard areas, fixing gutters, cat-proofing the necessaries, lots more painting, and much else.

Well, It's what life is for and all about,

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Thinking a lot about old friends lately. Morbidly, you know. How many more will die without my getting to see them again even once? And I'm so underground and off the map that in the large bulk of cases, I don't even know how to contact people, and people have very few options in ascertaining that I'm still alive myself. 

All there is is what will be, and there is nothing in this world to fear, but I can't help but feel a certain sadness around it all. My own fault, of course. Solitude, privacy, and hermitage come at a high price. 

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Been warming up for a real theological post, real godhead/spirit shit, but that is not this post. Soon, though. 

My practical bus driver test is on Sunday! I better work pretty hard this week. 

--JL