Saturday

March 10, 2001

for sale on ebay...one more thing I don't need is a travel postcard collection...but isn't it nice?

I could blame it on the disease that seemed to hound me all week. I could blame it on the malaise. I could blame it on overcast skies.

But I'm just lazy, I guess.

���

Let's see. I wasn't up that early. But I was second to get a haircut at Jane's.

We visited two book stores and Central Market and ate a Thundercloud sub.

FFP made dinner. Lamb with a smoky mustard sauce and oyster mushrooms and twice-baked potatoes and salad. I washed the dishes and put the dishwasher on. This was my great accomplishment of the day. That and not buying a book at Barnes and Noble.

I've decided that until I get control of my stuff I can't have any more stuff. I mean it. The only stuff I can buy is stuff to organize, contain or label my stuff. And even then. Think twice. I can't tell you how many times my organization efforts have started with buying boxes, files, labels, folders and other devices at The Container Store or some place. Only to have the means to the end become part of the clutter. I start a filing system and then forget what the system is before I finish filing, sorting. I manage to discard some stuff once in a while. And I manage to move things I want to keep around until I lose them.

���

FFP rented Basquiat on a trip to the shoe repair store (to pick up my shoes restored from New York City salt and years of wearing) and to take a suitcase to repair (thanks, Samsonite, it was defective but I was too lazy to return it).

The movie is a sad commentary on the art world but an interesting view of the creative act. It has a lot in common with Pecker except that the latter is light-hearted and fictional. I think I like Pecker's photos (fictional but, hey, someone had to make them) better than Basquiat's paintings. All the same, it's a pretty good movie. Basquiat, that is. And Pecker for that matter.

Then we watched whatever was on here and there on the cable and I read down the newspaper pile. Read a Forbes, too. It was good to read down the pile. It gave me this tiny sense of control. I feel this tremendous need to have a nice clean workspace, to know where everything is, to catch up. That's why I'm not buying anything until I get control. To get to that point is going to be a lot of work. A lot. My life has been going so fast the last twenty-five years. I still don't feel entirely comfortable in my life or skin.

Stuff I needed to know has come and gone while I wasn't looking. I have accomplished things, but they seem miniscule in comparison to the things that I didn't even see go by.

And I've had so many enthusiams. Many have been quite fleeting. Worse, many have hung around, made me dabble and drift.

Thinking of dabbling and drifting made me look for a poem I wrote about dabbling. I know I put it in my journal somewhere. But I can't find where. Looking through the journal makes me realize what a great, lumbering work it has become. However, it's somewhat organized. A few broken links, but still. Sometimes I can find things where I left them. Find my life where I left it.

���

I'm awake until 2AM with the papers and the TV. At least I didn't sleep in my chair, not reading, until going to bed late. I must be getting well.

���