'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

a somewhat hibernate-y saturday

well i did dash out to get to the library before it was locked up. but it's been a lazy, time-slighting course through this rotation of the planet.

a quick jot-down on "glad" and "grateful": the former more (and enviably) in your own skin; the latter somehow like the (said to be universally desired) not alone in your skin. god as a substitute for other people, cuz god is & does whatever we want or say he or she or it is & does. can be counted on that way, at least philosophically, unlike other people. or is that only true for some. and it is only some true, anyway.

today's "this american life" had this guy talking about realizing, all of a sudden, that the assumptions he'd made about how all his friends thought of him as an asshole were off. that they weren't kidding. got me to thinking about how the boys used to kid kid kid each other when we were teenagers & young collegians. and then all of a sudden (they so noticably weren't laughing and) i figured out that what i'd thought was just companionable kidding was actually joking around around a lot of very serious, and sometimes hard, feelings. on both their parts. though more sensitively on one of theirs.

it was a change of world view for me. brought about vicariously, laughably enough.


opened a piece of mail from st. joe's that says i have to go back for a follow-up mammogram. it was accompanied by the piece of literature they put in with such requests to keep the recipient from freaking out too much. with (among other things, i'm sure; i didn't read it all) statistics on these routine follow-ups that indicate that the area of concern ---i'm pretty sure they take care not even to use "concern"--- is very probably nothing. i didn't read through cuz i didn't want to see how many (count 'em) ways they are reassuring, so's not to have to feel compelled to conclude, if there are quite a few, that they protest too much. i take my comfort largely from confidence that life isn't always as predictable as bad art, as in "The L Word," whose shotgun-over-the-fireplace breast cancer set-up episode i've seen, and so i know (Drama 101) (or, hell--- Remedial Drama) that the character in question's a goner, even though i'll have another several episodes with her, and at least one or two before she figures out what we know.

i have also already visited in my mind briefly more than once how there's no breast cancer in my family, that i know of. and i've observed mentally how big breasts and lots of caffeine work well as pigeonholes into which to stick, whenever it blows out and into my face again, the memo of inevitable "geez i sure hope not" i now have to live with for some unknown number of days henceforth.

i think maybe it is a good night to play records.

the overcast and chilly not-quite-spring outdoors, with dampness hanging in the air, fits. a fire in a fireplace would be nice, too. especially if there were someone to curl up with, and with whom i'd like to curl up, feeling like sitting in that trite scene with me, wordless, staring peacefully into the dancing flames.

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