Wednesday, January 16, 2002

snap of bulletin board before removing some stuff to make room for a couple of New York snaps

"Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go."

William Feather

Feeling better is satisfying and I'm somewhat happy with how my presentation is going. And I feel competent. Like I can achieve some things, personally and professionally. It will surely pass.

I've also entered a place where, in spite of my Adult ADD (undiagnosed, I'm sort of kidding), that I accomplish a little as I skip from task to task and I concentrate at least briefly on the task, shutting everything else out long enough to do some good before flitting off. So work feels satisfying. Plus...not one but two phone meetings are cancelled freeing up my time for more important things.

I have lunch at a place called Madras Pavillion with SuRu and another friend (one of the double D as we call them, a couple of bon vivant friends). The D wants to hear about New York City. Since I've worked on journal entries and gotten pictures back and looked at them, I have the trip straight in my head. Sort of. I recite the days, the plays, the shopping, the museums, the weather and the progress of my illness along the way. SuRu vehemently disputes the appearance and name of one of the restaurants. Two of our meals (or snacks) have merged in her memory. Later, we straighten it out. Actually, three restaurant experiences had merged. We laugh about how people are such poor witnesses of their own lives. Never ask us about an accident we've seen, especially not days later.

Lunch is great. The place is vegetarian Indian and it's kosher (a plaque on the wall says). The lentil soup, stuffed crêpes and the various chutneys and curries are delicious.

The D is going to go to the south of France, Andorra and Barcelona. I'm envious. I love travel. Except for the flying, of course.

I have a late meeting and then talk to FFP. He's talking about going to work out. I suggest that he wait and I go, too.

We don't spend long in the gym. I ride a stationary bicycle for a little over fifteen minutes, reading The New York Times and glancing up at the bank of TVs on different channels. I do a couple of machines (pecs and calves). Rick Perry asks if he's usurped my machine because my papers and sweatshirt and towel are next to the pec machine. I think he looks familiar but don't really snap.

"No, my stuff is just piled here."

FFP makes fun of me, not recognizing the governor. So, yeah, I'm celebrity-stupid. We all remember the Sandra Bullock incident. Hey, I thought he looked familiar.

At home, I download some digital pictures, write a little and read the paper. I eat some cheese and rye bread. I'm too lazy to microwave leftovers and I have this great white cheddar we got for Christmas. I find myself, late at night, discovering reruns of King of the Hill and watching them with pleasure. Time for sleep. I still feel great and capable in spite of accomplishing nothing this evening. It's all chemicals washing your brain. If only you could control what those chemicals were, huh? I read that drug manufacturers have spent over a hundred million dollars on consumer advertising for drugs like Zoloft. It's sad, I think. But I don't really object to people trying to use chemicals to get themselves where they want to be. It's just that endorphins and other brain chemistry accidents seem to work better for me. And caffeine and alcohol, of course.

JUST TYPING
There is doing what needs doing.
And enjoying what one does.
If you get both, it's wonderful.
Without the first, life often finds a way to make it unnecessary.
Without the second, life itself seems unnecessary.