A totally lazy, wasted day, punctuated only by meaningless frustrations. Makes me feel guilty.
Things began normally enough. Got up a little later than usual, threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top and went out for my morning walk. Perhaps the big fat brown dog's attitude rubbed off on me, for as I encountered her outside her house, she wagged her tail but informed me that she was too tired to accompany me today. How she had gotten so tired by 7:30, I do not know.
But as I say, it rubbed off; for by the time I got back to the house, I also felt tired. Profoundly tired, really. Just took the time to watch the usual bad news from America on the laptop, then flopped down on the bed and straightaway fell asleep. I got up several times, tried to get myself going, but soon returned to the bed. Felt almost as I did many years ago when I had mononucleosis, minus the sore throat (thank God).
Having made several aborted starts toward heading down to Sanur, and failing even to get out the front door, I decided to play a bit of the video game I've been struggling through recently. More frustration. The soldier whose role I am playing in the game is to enter a house and climb a stairway, in search of the ever lurking Nazis. As he goes up the stairway, fire engulfs the structure behind him, the stairway collapses and then the second floor, which he has succeeded in reaching, also erupts in flame. The soldier dies. Over and over. There is apparently no where else to go--though, of course, there must be. But for perhaps an hour I burn countless times, unable to find any avenue of escape. The one answer seems to be to throw the laptop across the room, though I manage to deter myself from this course and just turn it off instead.
How fitting that this soldier has also found himself unable to get out of the house and proceed further with any mission.
So it's back to bed for a while, having surrendered the idea of going to Sanur, and then later I watch a movie that I have seen several times in the past--A Few Good Men.
You can't handle the truth!
Well, Jack, I can't handle the truth that my entire day has been burned--but there it is. Guilty as charged. Evening is here to take me into custody.
Maybe I feel like I'm in that burning house. I feel that I have something I'm supposed to be doing, but I cannot get out of the flaming ruins and onto the next screen. There are other battles ahead, other streets to clear, other dwellings to explore, but I'm stuck on this damn collapsing stairway!
And I'm tired.
I'm so tired,
I'm feelin' so upset;
Although I am so tired
I'll have another cigarette …
I feel of late perfectly superfluous. I feel as if the mirror will soon no longer bother to reflect me. I am very nearly a ghost, who himself cannot think how to get to the home he is supposed to be haunting. I think just now of a scene from the movie A Ghost Story. The house that the ghost had originally come to haunt has itself been abandoned and is now quite empty and derelict. He is now just standing in an empty room of an empty house which sits on an empty lot. It strikes me that nothing in all the universe could be more frightfully lonely or more painfully futile than this.
Things began normally enough. Got up a little later than usual, threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top and went out for my morning walk. Perhaps the big fat brown dog's attitude rubbed off on me, for as I encountered her outside her house, she wagged her tail but informed me that she was too tired to accompany me today. How she had gotten so tired by 7:30, I do not know.
But as I say, it rubbed off; for by the time I got back to the house, I also felt tired. Profoundly tired, really. Just took the time to watch the usual bad news from America on the laptop, then flopped down on the bed and straightaway fell asleep. I got up several times, tried to get myself going, but soon returned to the bed. Felt almost as I did many years ago when I had mononucleosis, minus the sore throat (thank God).
Having made several aborted starts toward heading down to Sanur, and failing even to get out the front door, I decided to play a bit of the video game I've been struggling through recently. More frustration. The soldier whose role I am playing in the game is to enter a house and climb a stairway, in search of the ever lurking Nazis. As he goes up the stairway, fire engulfs the structure behind him, the stairway collapses and then the second floor, which he has succeeded in reaching, also erupts in flame. The soldier dies. Over and over. There is apparently no where else to go--though, of course, there must be. But for perhaps an hour I burn countless times, unable to find any avenue of escape. The one answer seems to be to throw the laptop across the room, though I manage to deter myself from this course and just turn it off instead.
How fitting that this soldier has also found himself unable to get out of the house and proceed further with any mission.
So it's back to bed for a while, having surrendered the idea of going to Sanur, and then later I watch a movie that I have seen several times in the past--A Few Good Men.
You can't handle the truth!
Well, Jack, I can't handle the truth that my entire day has been burned--but there it is. Guilty as charged. Evening is here to take me into custody.
Maybe I feel like I'm in that burning house. I feel that I have something I'm supposed to be doing, but I cannot get out of the flaming ruins and onto the next screen. There are other battles ahead, other streets to clear, other dwellings to explore, but I'm stuck on this damn collapsing stairway!
And I'm tired.
I'm so tired,
I'm feelin' so upset;
Although I am so tired
I'll have another cigarette …
I feel of late perfectly superfluous. I feel as if the mirror will soon no longer bother to reflect me. I am very nearly a ghost, who himself cannot think how to get to the home he is supposed to be haunting. I think just now of a scene from the movie A Ghost Story. The house that the ghost had originally come to haunt has itself been abandoned and is now quite empty and derelict. He is now just standing in an empty room of an empty house which sits on an empty lot. It strikes me that nothing in all the universe could be more frightfully lonely or more painfully futile than this.
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