Remembering to remember

It's been a couple of weeks since I bothered to come on here and blather. Lately it just doesn't seem as important to slop down a thick lather of what I'm feeling or up to, but it's due, so I suppose I should get caught up... if only for myself.

And that's the weird thing. I've gotten used to the idea that no one reads this stuff (why would they?) and I'm just jotting stuff down for myself that someone might trot along and read sometime. It's just in the last few days that I've been reminded it isn't always so. Most recently, I just noticed that Dave in Dublin seems to have taken some minor offense at my characterization of his call in January. Sorry, Dave, didn't mean to slag you, if that's how it came off. I just commenting on how strange and out of the blue the whole episode was. I wasn't upset by it or anything, or trying to make fun of you, just felt weird and kind of put on the spot. I'm not much of a phone person; I tend to like e-mail and that kind of thing, where I can take a few minutes and compose my thoughts. Spontaneity isn't my bag.

Also, this weekend, a friend of Jody's also got in touch with me. Her name's Jen but she goes by Cran, so I think I'd better get used to that. :) Cran had a much more face-to-face relationship with Jody than I did (hey, who didn't?). She went to school with him and sent me pictures of the highway that went past his place. I remember Jody talking about it; Route 217, I think. It was kind of what I imagined; rural, isolated, big, wide expanses of awing vistas. But it was still something to actually see it. I had a moment like that kind of in reverse after visiting Dallas... Jody's dad, Jim, pointing to a mall parking lot and saying "that's where Jody got his suit for work when he started here..." and later, when I was home again, Jim sent me the photos of that occasion, years ago. Suddenly, there was Jody, standing in the place I'd been. Kind of a weird time-loop thing going on. Anyway, this time, it was having my imaginary view of the road paved over by the real one... which is more in keeping with how these things usually go on.

I didn't forget the 7th, incidentally. It was a Saturday. And, as usual, Jody came to mind when I was in the shower. Nothing salacious, it's just one of those places where you're pretty much utterly alone with your thoughts. There's nothing distracting going on. You're not cutting onions and trying not to slice your thumb, or guessing if the Mustang's going to cut you off, or typing in your blog. You're just standing there in the warm water with nothing in the world but what's going on in your head. So interesting things, or nagging things, or regrets tend to show up to wash your back for you. Typically, since Jody got cancer, this is where I've found it least avoidable. Talking to him on ICQ I was nearly always chipper. He was alive, he was so dear, he was talking to me. There was hope. It was standing there alone in the gloom in the mornings when I would entertain those dark considerations that actually finally came to pass last June. It didn't end there, of course. Saturday on the 7th they were still in there with me, even though Jody is not in pain and I'm not longer afraid for his life, his comfort. Regrets, sadness, loss. I wonder what purpose they serve. Sure, they're part of being human, they're part of what makes us what we are. But if they weren't part of us, we wouldn't miss them. So why do we have them? I'd be loathe to give up my feelings for Jody, even though he's gone... but I wonder what reason behind it is. If there's a biological survival advantage in it, I'm not sure what it is.

This time last year, as this year, I was preparing for the Victoria Day weekend visit of my friend R-Lang, from Connecticut. We have a lot of things planned this year. He's a creature of habit. The things we've done before he largely wants to do again. But I understand that. If I had a place I went once a year for a few days, I think I'd be like that too. Show me one or two new things, but let's do something familiar... something that re-enforces the good feelings and good times we have before. Unfortunately for me, a lot of this is based on food. I was pretty good over the past month about sticking to program, and I lost about 9 lbs. I really blew it out my ass this past weekend, though. Probably put back 3 or 4. And next weekend, same deal. I really do want to get back under 200 and go back to Harvey's in triumph. But fuck me, it's hard. I mean, you have to be pure and fucking virginal 100% of the time, and you just squeak a little more off here, a little bit more off that. But slip up even a little, and you're right back where you started. I know I have this cross to bear, but Jesus Christ, it upsets me that it's that fucking one-sided. You can't live at all. Not at fucking all. No goddamn fucken margin AT ALL. So next weekend, without really living all that badly, I'm going to piss away all the progress I made since March, no doubt.

Anyways, I suppose that's it for now.