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Tuesday, April 8, 1997
It's a few minutes past noon, and I'm still in my pajamas. I've been reading my old journals. At turns, they amuse me, sadden me, make me think about what was, is, and could have been.
I think I've finally figured out what journals are for. At least, one reason. They remind me that you can't run away from what you've done. The past follows you, and what you are today is a function of where you've been and the things you did there. I could tear the journals up or ignore them, but it wouldn't change anything. The journals are me, the most accurate picture of myself I could provide at the moment I wrote them. Regardless of how they might make me feel, there's no denying it. I think I can learn a lot by reading them. Maybe get inspiration. And here I thought they were just a writing exercise. Almost makes me feel like keeping journals in a fancy bound volume, instead of these shabby spiral notebooks.
I feel like I'm at a crucial point of some sort. Someplace where I need to make a move, decide something. Or maybe I need to just stay put.
I'm watching the noon news. They just had a story about a woman at an isolated produce stand somewhere who was the victim of an attempted robbery by a man wielding a baseball bat. Apparently, she not the guy out with a 2-pound zucchini she had under the counter. They didn't say exactly what happened after that, but I guess she didn't get robbed. The odd thing is, the news anchor came back afterward and said that if this ever happened, you should just hand over your money. But that really didn't seem to make sense after that. I mean, a zucchini? Who would have thought? Personally, I think it shows that you should never say die. A zucchini, for God's sake.
Where was I? At a crossroads, a point of decision. I was talking to Rick about a computer class I'd like to take at Howard Community College. It's expensive, but it seems very practical, assuming I'll use it. That's the question, I guess. I'm not even sure. Then, there's writing. Do I want to pursue that or is that just some sort of fantasy? What am I willing to trade in financial security for a change in career?
I have a temporary legal assignment at the law firm (at last!) recently. It went very well, but I had to quit after a couple of days, because I got sick. Five days later and I'm still coughing. I missed out on a trip to the client's office in Decatur, Illinois. Long days wading through documents. That plus travel time would have provided a nice check. Oh well. Lee from LawCorp called today to get my hours for last week. She said they really, really like to me. I like them, too. The firm was [name omitted], a boutique specializing in corporate and international tax law. Wonder if they'd consider hiring a former environmental/Social Security/land-use/general practitioner with ten years legal experience where to go next. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
I'm really tempted to take that computer course.
Law & Order just came on. Anything, please, but courtroom drama.
So I flip to another channel. Another courtroom drama. Flip some more. Looks like I found the People's Court or something like it. Two trashy-looking people at the respective parties' tables. A woman wearing too much makeup and a ring pierced through one eyebrow (really) at one table, a goofy-looking guy at the other. The woman has a sullen look, a pouty, orange mouth. The man looks like he just showed up for the fun of it. Wearing a golf shirt, looking matter-of-fact. A little too sincere maybe? He's in court, for God's sake. The judge, a woman maybe in her fifties, looks peeved. I have the sound down, but her mouth is moving constantly and it doesn't look like she's saying nice things. She's wearing half-moon glasses that sit down on the bridge of her nose and a lacy, white collar is protruding around the neck of her black robe. The room is full of spectators. It looks like the waiting area of a bus station. Everyone's sitting there, in rapt attention, gazing slack-jawed as this fascinating human drama unfolds before them. I turn on the sound. The man (the defendant) is evading the judge's questions, and she's getting pissed. I don't know what this case is about, but it involves two parents and money and somehow custody and support came up. These people and their problems have a depressing ring of familiarity and I punch the "mute" button again. I like the judge. She's no-nonsense.
Suddenly, I have the strange sensation of missing this crap. I must be really sick. This simply can't be real. In a moment, the feeling will pass, like the memory of a bad nightmare.
The judge just ordered a bad photographer to give back the money he made for taking some bad wedding pictures. Lots of judgments, but will these people ever collect? Always the question.
I have to admit, this show is a hoot.
Boy, I just haven't done jack shit today. I'm just sitting here in pajamas, watching TV, feeling some kind of weird mix of guilt, nostalgia, and indecision. Someday, I'll look back fondly on all this. Much as I looked back on the days when my business was starting. What a great place to stop.
On second thought, one more thought. I've been reading my old dream journals. I'm stunned by the similarities, some that I'd noticed in something I hadn't, between the dreams. Recurring themes: houses and people breaking into them and disrupting things. Disorders that I can't control, in general. Fear of an unknown intruder in the house. Fighting to get out (away from the intruder) or to keep the intruder out. Darkness. A lot of my dreams take place at night, often in bad neighborhoods or in some dangerous situation (a scary, dark road). Sometimes, I'm in New York or a place that resembles New York. Occasionally, grotesque or violent images. Dead people. Mutilated people.
I find myself wondering who or what the "intruder" is and why I'm trying so hard to keep it out or get away from it. I'm on the verge of realizing something about myself, and I get the feeling that I don't want to know what it is.
Couldn't be fear of success? One of my clearest childhood memories is of coming in second place in a school spelling bee. I spelled "addend" wrong. It doesn't seem possible. How could I misspell such a simple word? I remember sitting alone in my classroom afterward, then this guy who sat near me came in. "You blew it, you blew it, you blew it," he kept saying, over and over. I know, I know. One of the few clear memories. Great.
