I’ve been encountering one of those weeks where each time I deal with someone who’s “behind the counter,” they’re telling me things like: “you’ll have to come back, it’s only today the person you needed to see is not here,” or, “you’re more than welcome to wait, just one more hour or so.” I went to ride through town with a car battery fixed to the right handle bar on my bike, and to have the alternator checked afterwards, I was met with, “it’s only this week the machine isn’t here, is being repaired; it’ll be back next week.” Luckily, I’m used to these types of things, so the more I experience them, the better I become at attaining my masterful Zen patience.
One the of the good things that came from one wait, was that I learned I’ve accomplished so much already toward completion, that I’m left with a wide array of choices as to extra studies to pursue. Therefore, I’m taking up a spot in the music hall where I’ll be studying music again. This is strange seeming how I was trying to avoid this, and somehow it’s like, hunting me down. Music is soothing to the soul and playing music is about as good as it gets. Maybe I’ll be in a band again.
The news from my doctor and radiologist was just as I suspected: my ankles are like saran-wrapped jelly. I don’t know what the specialist will advise, but I’m hoping amputation with the prospect of having a robotic foot reattached. Add in the automated, cochlear implants into my brain, and I could become a partialized robot.
One of the weird things about living here, good weird, is that instead of hearing constant sirens, people screaming and yelling, and hip-hop music blaring me completely out of my seat perpetually, I hear every twenty minutes or so through my window, a school of geese flying by, their gentle honking providing me with the perfect audial image of nature. Simply glorious.
Alcoholics, beware. This KOMBUCHA stuff is just like alcohol; burns like crazy in the stomach. Notice the ferment at the bottom of the bottle? What was interesting was how the label said to shake gently before drinking, so I shook gently, then I opened the bottle only to have it burst like compacted champagne all over my desk. I still have the scent of kombucha lingering in my room.
After absorbing the talent of this post, I saw this in my neighbor’s backyard and couldn’t help myself. What an odd chord seeing one of these things strikes; I think of London and fog and Halloween and just, you know, stuff like that.
Now I’m off to embrace the pain of Poetic Theory as I initiate the process of defining the New Criticism of the Mid-Twentieth Century. Keep me in your prayers all my friends out there in internet land, this stuff gives me a headache every time I start reading. I hope studying criticism doesn’t cramp my style?