Hmmmmm.

Feeling good because I've talked to everybody I'm connected to.  Phone calls all around.  Whew.!

Sometimes that is hard.  Sometimes one has to work at it.  Others may not cooperate!

Lately, I've been able to do it.  Must be the Prozac.

Also.
Am reading Wonder Boys (M. Chabon) .   As it turns out, I'm reading it for the second time.  I know this because as I read it now, I remember how it goes.  But so much is Brand New News....which means that although I've read it fairly recently, I've forgotten most of it.  Hmmmmmm.

Not sure how much weight to give to that insight...which is not really new.  I think I've had a stroke at some time.   I used to be able to remember things.  Now I don't.  I think there was a singular point of change.   It would have been more or less 10 years ago.  After that, I've been compensating.  Doing pretty well, I think.  Mostly.  But clearly, I don't remember shit.  Makes retraining hard.  And family members rather exasperated, if I don't miss my guess.

Anyhow.

Hung a bunch of family pictures.  Hung a picture of my paternal grandparent's wedding....and of my paternal uncles and aunts....they are kind of mafia like, in the photos....not in real life so far as I know...and of my brother who died recently....kind of making a context of me and my family.  Also had pictures of the daughters and the grand daughters....this stuff really is curious: how did these people/experiences produce these other people/experiences?  What's the flow?  How's it work?  Are we all the product of AI? My beautiful bright granddaughters seem such unlikely products of my rather dark ancestors.

Sigh.

Sometimes I wish there WAS somebody reading this blog...this diary of experiences....to give me some sort of feedback..Sometimes I do.  Often, I'm glad there isn't.

Can you imagine?  Writing shit like this and then having some weird cyber sleuth commenting on it?

Thank heavens for numerical anonymity.  It's weird enough having these thoughts without someone else remarking inappropriately on them...and how could they be anything but inappropriate?  One can never have enough context after all.

Ah well. We are each a singularity.  That could be cool.  Maybe.

Dalmatians

So.
There I was, talking on the phone with my oldest friend when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a random Dalmatian in my yard.  Well of course I had to go check it out.  And besides, my oldest friend and I had been talking for an hour or more already....

Her name was Olive...(the dalmatians, not my friends'.)    She was obviously young and a turkey (again, not my friend, but the dalmatian).  I called the number on the tag and waited.  In due course, her owner called me and came over to retrieve her.  Probably not the first or the last time this will happen in his life.  I enjoyed her.  She was, after all, a dog.

Meanwhile I never called my friend....my oldest friend....back.   Took me two weeks to reconstruct events so that now I remember that I got abruptly off the phone to investigate a Dalmatian, never to to call again, and that I owe her a call. 

And so nations are lost.

Meanwhile, so much has happened!

You know those amazingly awful inheritance disputes that families manage to get into when someone dies?  Well I have a couple of nieces who seem to be teetering on the brink of such a dispute.  My brother...their father....wouldn't approve, I'm sure, as it's not in either of their best interests to quarrel....there is only a modest inheritance after all, that should be shared between them...and not given to lawyers.

I don't know where my current saintly attitude is coming from. I'm pretty sure that the inheritance splits 50/50 in the best of all possible worlds.  I'm willing to further that outcome on behalf of my brother and the girls' mother, although the outcome has no consequences for me personally.   My daughter unjustly (I feel) accused me of "lack of compassion" for showing up late for babysittting....even tho I had called to confirm my replacement....(see her Facebook for more details on this)...thus making her late for a spa appointment.  I responded with apologies and a day of babysitting rather than a defensive counter attack as might have been the case during an earlier incarnation of myself.  I mean, these things are f***ing SAINTLy.

Don't you think?

I know I feel saintly.

About the Dalmatian, as well.

It's probably the Prozac....or, more accurately, the "fluoxetine".....

Whatever.  It's feels way better than my previous me.  This is my third go-round with this drug.  I remember this state from those previous experiences...this "oh shit...why have I been wasting my time???"  (my time being depressed, I guess)   While depressed, I feel "I need to tough this out.  Life sucks, after all.  I have screwed up over and over...no wonder I feel bad..." and so forth.  Now I feel like "being saintly is so much fun!!".

To sum up:
Nobody ever reads this blog, which is probably good.  Not even my former classmates, to whom I did provide the address (see the St. Scholastica post).....I feel mildly hurt....
Still! I get to blabber on with total impunity!  In full public view.  How bizarre and wonderful.  I will, of course, deny everything.