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April 4, 2000
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lack of compassion Increasingly I find myself hardened to others' pain...and to my own. I feel for people but there is always an undercurrent of 'yeah, those are the breaks.' It's not restricted to others. I understand the chaos that accompanies my own journey, too. I can remember a time when stained or torn clothes, a rained-out event, an illness, an error which made me look foolish, a road ding on a car (never mind a dented fender) could dominate my thoughts. Perhaps it's maturity, perhaps old age, but I now tend to bump along, taking these things in stride. When really serious things happen to people (my sister's illness, for example), I am circumspect. I care, I think about it, but I realize what I can and can't control. The day opened bright. I was groggy. One of those nights that found me up and down. First, asleep in my chair over a half-finished crossword puzzle, then in bed awake, then wide awake at the computer, then in bed asleep, then time to get up. Monday, as we know, is the day I like to tackle the New York Times crossword. Because I can hope to finish it which feels good. We are giving a party in about ten days. I start thinking about a bit of picking up. It's not like I neglect it totally. I never travel from one room to another without taking some newspapers to the 'staging for recycling' area or some coffee cups and glasses to the kitchen or some shoes to the bedroom. I'm constantly picking up and putting away. But I'm coming along behind myself and scattering some of the same. Fortunately the maids clean around and about the mess so that when one gets down to moving the junk around the dirt is pretty well taken care of. It is a delight to have maids. I always thought that if I did it would be a cinch to just pick up after myself. And it actually is. Sort of. Except if you can afford the maids then you can afford to buy more than you can properly keep up with. And so it goes. When we go to these emormous homes, there are several questions I have. One: Where is the pile of magazines that may still include New Yorkers from a decade ago? Are the closets really so huge that they can corral the things that tend to lie about in our house: more of those magazines, newspapers, books, remotes to forgotten electronics, sweaters, jackets, bathrobes? Certainly a walk-in closet would conceal what Forrest and I refer to as 'shoe farm' and 'pants pile.' At work, I turned over what was largely secretarial at this point to an admin. Some of these admins are extremely organized and wonderfully competent and just magicians, really. This one is one of those. I did some reading on V7 of something I've been working on since V1.3. Things have changed, to say the least. Things change so fast anymore. Sigh. I decided to clean out my briefcase and get organized thereby. There were pens and pencils, small tape recorder and many tapes, Palm Pilot, a compass, two Swiss army knives, a small flashlight, a lighted magnifier, lead for a mechanical pencil I rarely use, clip on sunglasses, an audio tape "Don't sweat the small stuff" and some presentations from work stuff that seemed dated (although it was fairly recent). There was also a book someone had returned on Windows Networking and other things I've forgotten, I'm sure. I lunched at the Japanese place with one of the Nancys. I always spend too much there because I eat two appetizers like negami and sashimi instead of the (more reasonably priced) lunch specials. After lunch it was just so nice out as we walked back that we bought an ice cream bars from the snack bar in the lobby and sat outside in the courtyard and ate them. I was tempted to bring work outside for the rest of the day. But then I remembered a meeting and other stuff to tie me to my desk. Driving home, I felt for the first time in the day my lack of sleep last night. At the stoplights, I rubbed my eyes and felt a fading. Fired up the Capresso and had a couple of cups when I got home to make sure I didn't nap and then sleep poorly again. I read some newspapers, wrote e-mail to my friend Mags in Cape Town, had dinner. (Forrest made catfish and spinach salad. I like it when he cooks. And shops.) SuRu was discussing her remodel with the contractor and called around seven-thirty about a dog walk. Light (even saved) was fading. But we walked. "Let's walk to Starbucks," I said. "Not to go there, just to go that way," (There was a time when I would have wanted a coffee, too. Especially given the way I'd felt earlier. Now I prefer the Capresso stuff.) But we walked to Starbucks, crossing 45th at the Pedestrian light by the School for the Blind. (Walk lights are accompanied by sounds in our neighborhood because of the school and we like it because it reminds us, if we've been talking or looking around, to walk.) We walked behind the Starbucks and back through the neighborhood. It got dark. My flashing red light needs a battery and was fading. SuRu's is broken. My flashlight on my leash was getting weak, too. But we know the neighborhood well. "Sometimes there's a cat in this yard," SuRu says as I'm negotiating a dip in the sidewalk I also know is there. We make it home without falling on our faces. I drink a (caffeine free) root beer, read a bunch of newspapers. Sleep at a reasonable hour is the goal. |
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"Concern for the man himself and his fate must always form the chief interest of all technical endeavors." Albert Einstein |
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