George R. Shirer's Blog, page 10

Wavering between visibility and invisibility.

I spent part of today wandering around a lake, and the other part reading The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue.  It was a good day. I have scrambled out of the weeds, mostly, and feel more like my ordinary self. Fresh air and good books can do that.Sometimes, I feel like the main character in The Invisible Life....  Sometimes, I feel like I'm passing through the world, not leaving any evidence of my existence, not even an impression in the minds of the people I interact with. Sometimes, I feel like I'm unseen and unheard, unrecognized and forgotten. I used to think, sometimes, that it would be nice to live apart from the rest of the world. To live alone, just enough out of phase with the rest of reality, that I was able to interact with it, but not be a part of it. A solid ghost, haunting empty hotel rooms, helping myself to whatever I wanted with no thought of the consequences. There are some days that I still imagine that existence, but they are few and far between. I don't want to be invisible any longer.I don't want to be apart from the world.But I don't know, truthfully, if I want to be a part of the world either.So I think I exist, sort of, in the twilight spaces between those two. A perceptible phantom, wavering between visibility and invisibility.Unnoticed until I speak in a voice like thunder.

In the Weeds...

I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. November and December were not great months, but then things got better. Yesterday and today, however, I've found myself 'in the weeds.' I don't want to be around anyone. I don't want to do anything. I just want to lie in bed, in a dark room, and eat cake.So, naturally, I'm going to get in my car and hit the road for a couple of days.No destination in mind.Nothing planned.Maybe I'll just find a nice, quiet hotel and hold up for a couple of days in the dark.

STORY: Estelle Begins Her Day

 Estelle gets on the train, with earbuds firmly in place, gripping her pad in gloved hands. The train has been uncomfortably chilly lately. No one seems to know why, but the people in charge promise that they're looking into it.

She takes a seat, next to a window, and settles in for the ride to City Center.  This morning her earbuds are playing something soothing and classical. It doesn't do much to improve her mood, but the music is like a cacoon, protecting Estelle from interaction with her fellow passengers.  

The screen of her pad glows and she taps at its interface with gloved fingers. She reads the headlines, letting the words wash over her, not really caring about what happens a million miles away. Unrest in Russia. Famine in Africa. Sexual shennanigans involving politicians and celebrities. None of it matters to her, not directly.

As the train approaches City Center, the car fills. A man sits next to Estelle. He's wearing a bright, puffy coat and fuzzy orange gloves that match his hat. He smells like citrus. Like Estelle, he is armored against the crowd with earbuds and a pad. Estelle glances at his screen, like you do, and sees that he's reading some kind of manga. 

The car is quiet. No one talks to anyone else. Somewhere in the back someone is using old-fashioned headphones and their music-of-choice is leaking into the surrounding air.  Blue Oyster Cult's Don't Fear the Reaper. Estelle adjusts the volume of her earbuds to drown it out.

Close to City Center, you get more foreigners boarding the train. You can always spot them. They're so short. There's more of them every year. Sometimes, in her darker moments, Estelle feels like they're being invaded. Sometimes, she wishes they'd stay at home, but then she remembers the news of unrest and famine and general stupidity and realizes these people are probably trying to get the hell away from all of that. 

She still doesn't like them.

Finally, the train arrives at City Center. Estelle rises and departs. The train station is crowded. People flow like water around ticket kiosks and hot food machines. Estelle never buys food in the station.  A friend told her the stuff in the machines is close to expiration, so unless she wants to risk food poisoning, its best to avoid it.  Most people either don't know this or don't care. The line for hot food is long.

Estelle takes the escalator up from the depths. The station is chilly. The surface is warm. At the gates to the station, Estelle always pauses to take a deep breath and open her coat. The city sprawls around her, beneath the Dome. Through its transparent material, Estelle can see the familiar red skies of Mars. 

She draws a deep breath, inhaling the complex aroma of the enclosed city. A mix of ozone, body stink, spices and incense. The streets are crowded. Estelle slips into the flow, already planning to grab a coffee from the Starbucks down the street.  It might make her late opening, but she decides she doesn't care. What's the point of being your own boss, if you can't do what you want?

Her earbuds pick up on the change in her mood. They switch from soothing classical to poppy jazz, and Estelle begins her day.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

Sunday morning. Sun shining.Aretha singing.RESPECT.R-E-S-P-E-C-T!There's a lesson there.Learn it.

The Needs of the Many Outweigh the Needs of the Few

I am so fucking tired of masks and mask policies and the pandemic and virus-deniers and just the general tomfoolery and stupidity that have been demonstrated during the past year. It does not give me hope for the future of our species and just makes me glad that I've never had children. Honestly, I think I would just be worried and furious all the time if I did have kids. People just seem to have lost the most basic vestiges of common decency and courtesy. Everyone wants to do their own thing and damn the consequences to others. I think they're calling this mindset 'toxic individualism.' I've never heard a description that was so apt and true.

Sometimes, I get tired.

Sometimes, I get tired.  I get tired of everything. My job. My friends. My family. My life.Sometimes, I just want to climb into my car and ride off into the sunset. More importantly, I want to drive away from my life. From the weariness of it all.But I know that it's just the tiredness making me think that way. And I have to remind myself that tiredness passes.I'm tired of being tired.

Like a parent's harsh word...

Fatigue.It sinks into your bones,like a brick,like all the weight of the world.Like a parent's harsh word,or a friend's condemnation.Fatigue.It weighs us down,like lead,like false gold,like the thought of death.Fatigue.

Thoughts on the Future

Today, here in the United States,we have a new President. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit relieved. I sincerely hope that, as of tomorrow, all the disparate factions within our country can begin to search for common ground and come together in a spirit of reconcilliation. I hope so.Somehow, though, I doubt it will happen. At least, not for a time. 

The Breakup

Blows striking like raindrops.Words cutting like swords.Hearts beating.Hearts breaking.What the hell's it for?

Sun vs. Moon

I never write about the Sun. I just prefer the Moon. It's probably because I've always been more a night person than a day person. And I am NEVER, by any stretch of the imagination, a morning person! (Unless I'm reaching the morning because I've been up all night.)Also, I'm fairly pale and whenever I spend time in the sun I burn. I have never managed to get a suntan in my entire life. Actually, I've never understood people who want to get suntanned. Why not just say, "Hey, I wanna get skin cancer! And look like an alligator bag when I'm older!"No. You can keep the Sun. You can keep the day. I'll stay with the Moon and the night. And when we meet, it can be at dusk and dawn.