baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Maybe I'll be more coherent after some Clam Chowder I love the chill of wintertime air. The familiar feel of a long jacket scraping my legs, the collar sticking to the back of my neck-the gray of the clouds, the shine of the asphalt after a mellow rain. I think, for some reason, that when I die, it will be on a day like today. I hope I transcend the natural fear of death so I feel the cold seeping into my clothes as the warmth left my body, embracing my skin and numbing me with this favored chill of late October. Death, for reasons obvious and otherwise, has me a bit frayed on the edges. My friend J, in planning an upcoming trip to New York, just notified me that I'm included in his will. The upcoming holidays may well be my last with mom unless the miracle of modern medicine supplies enough magic to beat the cancer. And, of course, there is the day to day research on war, anthrax, carpet bombing and the like. I'm surrounded with this chill. But, in a dichotomy to beat all, this is also my favorite time of the year. Irony may have died for the moment, but I do believe it's alive and doing fairly well. Also doing well are my hands. I'm now a firm believer in the wonders of physical therapy . I even have mustered enough faith in the system built to protect those like me who actually get wounded while sitting on their ass all day while staring at a computer. I have friends who work in construction-lifting heavy hunks of wood all day in the middle of a busy city street. I have friends who ski, bike, drive drunk, fight and abuse themselves physically on a regular basis. But, those friends are fine. Me, wimpy me, who draws pictures for a living in a climate-controlled tribute to modern-day comforts-me who's weekends consists of books, music and cats-is wounded. Funny that irony. Funny how it creeps up and plants itself in the most perfect of corners. But, like I said, I'm feeling better-I think partly because my treatments has taught me to pay close attention to these aches and pains. I treat these tendons of mine gently now-and, in return, they're allowing me to do what I need to do to earn my living. So, in the face of October chill and all the fears it brings, I'm doing fairly well-thanks or no thanks to irony. 11:45 a.m. - 2001-10-31 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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