Monday, November 11, 2002

many traveling mes

"As a remedy to life in society I would suggest the big city. Nowadays it is the only desert within our means. "
Albert Camus, Notebooks, 1935-1942

My intention is to take my car to First Texas Honda and walk back.

I refuse the van ride. But then someone shows up that I know and offers me a ride. So I take it.

I use the walk time to chop up more bamboo. Still clearning my one little corner of our property. Oh, so slowly. Active enough to get a backache, though. Sore arms, too.

I work on this diary. Then FFP is going out so I get him to drop me off at the club. I work out on the exercise bike and the rowing machine and leg weights. I read my book on a bench outside until he comes to get me.

A man pulls up in an SUV. He gets out. His face is familar but I couldn't tell you his name.

"What are you reading?" he asks.

"A book I bought at the airport. At Heathrow. It won a prize," I say as if I have to have an excuse to read fiction.

"What's it about?" he asks, still walking.

"A marriage. That breaks up," I say, not sure that it isn't really about something else.

A pained look flickers over his face as he looks back at me.

"Not a good topic?" I say.

He says nothing.

At home, I work on my backup procedures, this diary, make lists of things to do as if they will propel me to do them. And I send an e-mail to SuRu asking if she wants to go dog walking.

We dog walk in the enveloping darkness. We have flashing lights and red lights on us, front and back and on Zoey. Sirens roar out into the night, fire trucks screaming then groaning. There was a big dust up like this while I was in the yard this morning. What is going on? Finally, the quiet returns to the dark.

Monday night promises 'good' TV if there is such a thing. We watch Third Watch, Crossing Jordan, Boston Public. I read a few papers and work the Monday New York Times crossword. The theme is a contracted 'of'. Like Will O' The Wisp.

JUST TYPING
Staying active.
Stirs you.
To be even more active.