THE DAY
Ever met anyone who’s really living life at full throttle? I’m not talking about the person who does dangerous things or jets around necessarily, although that can certainly be one way of doing it. I guess I’m thinking about someone who just makes sure that he goes for it all the time whatever he’s doing it, whether it’s cooking or hunting or seeing patients or eating a meal.
I met someone like that this evening: fellow up here on the mountain, a doctor. Nice guy, very entertaining, smart as hell–and he’s going full throttle. He’s got his reasons, too. My guess is that he even knows and understands them.
But meeting him, I’m thinking…why am I letting myself get so flipping down? I am trying to move forward with this book; I am moving forward with this book. It has not gone the way I wanted. I could’ve chucked it and gone back to another that’s about a third done, but I really wanted to tackle this one, see if I could do it. I am impatient. I know that. I want it to be done; I want it to be further along; I want to be in the refinement stage of the bloody thing.
Well . . . whatever. I’m not. I’m just moving forward–but I do wonder what I would do if I were not writing. Would I be living at full throttle? Would I be aware of my own mortality? Probably not, unless I got a horrific diagnosis. Even then, I’m not sure what I would do differently, other than what I’m doing now. It’s the same when you think about winning the lottery. What would you REALLY do? What would it materially change? Sure, I would never have to work again. Neither would the husband. But would my life change? (Well, yeah, I might say screw it and move back up north and get a nice house on Lake Superior.)
Anyway…I’m not saying I ought to be living differently. I would still have my coffee every morning and exercise my 90 minutes (more, today; I think I did a whole two hours) and probably keep writing because what the hell else would I do? But I do think that I have to keep in mind that it could be a hell of a lot worse.
On another note: went to an event this evening–Cajun and Creole cooking, which was very nice–where people were waxing rhapsodic about the German rocket scientists and, gee, what characters they were, and oh, of course, they fortified their houses because look at how badly off they had been and what they must’ve gone through.
Okay. Time out. Let’s get one thing straight: the German rocket scientists who came from Fort Bliss to Huntsville were NAZIS. They were NAZIS. They did NOT have it rough. They, in fact, had it very nice. They had the misfortune to get caught by the Allies. But they were fucking Nazis who got to come and live very nicely in the United States and get things named after them and have people love them for the space program and missile defense.
Sorry, guys, but THOSE people were the SAME people who were very happy to kill my father’s entire family. These were Nazis who put my relatives in concentration camps. They participated in the MURDER of millions of Jews, not to mention Catholics, gays, gypsies.
The rocket scientists were Nazis. They do not deserve your admiration, and they certainly won’t get my respect.
What is galling is that people here, with apparently no awareness of history, eulogize these guys.
They were fucking Nazis. Do not expect me–or the husband, bless him–to fall all over ourselves gushing about what great guys they were, and do not expect me to have a morsel of patience for you if you do.
WRITING OUT LOUD
Far Side of the Moon
Day 1: 4326 Day 11: 2500 Day 21: 1800 Day 31: 745
Day 2: 2085 Day 12: 500 Day 22: 0 Day 32: 0
Day 3: 3011 Day 13: 1000 Day 23: 2700 Day 33: 4000
Day 4: 2652. Day 14: 3700 Day 24: 3500 Day 34: 2800
Day 5: 3210 Day 15: 5630 Day 25: 1500 Day 35: 4500
Day 6: 3450 Day 16: 1060 Day 26: 0 Day 36: 4800
Day 7: 0 Day 17: 130 Day 27: 0 Day 37: 0
Day 8: 2756 Day 18: 0 Day 28: 380 Day 38: 450
Day 9: 4580 Day 19: 3000 Day 29: 390 Day 39: 1000
Day 10: 2670 Day 20: 2600 Day 30: 380 Day 40: 2500
Day 41: 2600
*Day 42: 830
Day 43: 3600
Day 44: 5000
Blog Post: 790
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What I’m Watching:
The Blacklist: Spader is just so luscious. He’s probably the only doughy, balding guy I’ve ever lusted after. It’s his voice and the sensuous way he says things. Oh, and the show isn’t bad either. It is infinitely more entertaining than The Affair, I can tell you that.
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What I’m Reading:
Pet Sematary, though achingly slowly; I’m only getting in a few pages at night. Just working too much during the day.
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What I’m Listening to:
The inside of my head.
