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Friday,
March 29, 2002
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ups and downs
"Silence is the unbearable
repartee."
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holiday I realize when I wake up that there is no work today. Not that it actually matters. Work hangs over me in the same way, whether it's a scheduled work day or not. I put it out of mind now better than in the past, to actually take a day off, a holiday or even eat lunch. I do that. It creeps in and torments me, sometimes more than others, sometimes good ideas come but mostly just worry. I concocted an algorithm on the memo pad of my Palm while sitting around my sister's room in rehab in 1999 and it finally became a real part of a product. But...that usually doesn't happen. Usually work just sullies time off so I try to put it aside. I play with my computer, writing some of these journal pages. I'm also trying to organize and back up my hopeless mess of pictures. I go through some stuff that falls out of a box in the closet. Inside is a postcard purchased on the QE2 showing the ship sailing past the lower Manhatten skyline. I decide to get a haircut. Jane the barber has an opening. She takes appointments on Friday so we are alone the whole time. We talk about the joys of middle age for women. Hormone replacement or not. The symptoms of declining hormones and her struggle with replacements. "I haven't taken any," I say. And her tale makes me glad both that I haven't had symptoms bad enough to think of taking them and that I haven't had to put up with taking them.
I tried to talk Forrest into playing hooky but it didn't work so I keep doing some straightening up and some projects on my computer. Our 'son' John comes by. He used to work for Forrest in the Dell years. We all go to Four Seasons for lunch in honor of the 25th Anniversary of Good Right Arm. Then Forrest is eager to get back to work. It's his thing. He's not good at goofing off on a weekday even if it's a holiday for some. I enjoy hearing John talk about his children, now both in school.
So, I knock around. My mom calls...once again she has sorted her messages in e-mail by clicking on the column heads. Only she doesn't know she does it. And she doesn't know how to undo it. I try to walk her through it. I don't feel like going over there today. Maybe tomorrow.
I sort through some old clippings. There is one about renovating the Louvre from a 1993 New York Times. I start to toss it but it has some detailed info and, in spite of having the WEB available, I decide to keep it. A feature line in the article says "renovating the museum is a job never done, like washing the World Trade Center's windows."
Forrest finishes his work day. We go to the club. I ride the exercise bike for twenty minutes, push my biceps and calfs against some low weights on the machines. Then we stop at Randall's and get a few things. I don't go to the store often. The soda aisle says 'new age' meaning these herbal drinks, I guess. I pick up some unsweetened cereal. Odd green and red things purporting to belong to Buzz Lightyear call out from one box.
Forrest watches basketball. Only he's sleeping. I can't find anything to watch. I finish the book of short stories and read some papers.
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179
JUST
TYPING