Hot, Worried

It is almost ten pm and it is 86F (30C) outside, and the humidity makes it hard for me, asthmatic, to breathe. I am worried about Tuna and worried about money and sick of the heat and worried about going on vacation and leaving Tuna alone and very stressed out in general even though I should be happy that I finished my piece and I am, just very stressed out.

Tuna

My sweet cat Tuna has to have surgery on Monday. For years he has had a benign cyst on his neck behind his ear, but it has become infected. My vet will remove it. I am worried because of the danger of the anaesthesia, and also that it is something serious. But the vet said at his age, sixteen and a half, that even if it is cancer he is too old to put him through chemotherapy, and the best thing to do is remove the cyst and keep him happy. He was very good at the vet, a little frightened, but his usual gentle self. I am going to be a nervous mess this weekend. I pray that he is ok.

step forward

I am very happy to report that, in spite of my headache (or perhaps because of it), I have completed the composing of FIELD MUSIC: ASH. This piece took me two years to write; that is not to say that I worked on it continuously for two years, but that it took that long to form itself. I don't push a piece unless I have to. Rather, I work out ideas and then let them percolate in my subconscious until they are ready. Now I have to edit the score, something I hate doing. But the hard part is over. I feel great relief and also confidence that it is good, and that the (very awesome) performers for whom I wrote it will do a beautiful job. It will be performed throughout Europe early next year.

It's Back!!

My headache is back. F-ck.

I Won't Complain Anymore

Ok, I have promised myself that I would not use this blog to complain. But here is one last complaint: I wish that when I were ill I had someone to take care of me; to take care of things: walk the dog, feed the cats, go to the grocery store. To help me rest and answer the phone. That's all.

vicious cycle/vicious circle

When I feel physically ill I get depressed; or when I get depressed I feel physically ill. I think this current down state is due to the former. Yesterday's migraine put me under, and last night I finally took imitrex to end the headache, which worked, but it also exhausted me--I slept for ten hours (!)--and today my mood is low low low. I want to finish FIELD MUSIC: ASH but I just can't face it. I want to hide in my apartment; I want the sun to go away and darkness to prevail. I hate feeling this way and I wish I could snap out of it, but as anyone who knows depression can affirm, it is not that simple.

Please Silence David Brooks

When I read David Brooks's columns in the NEW YORK TIMES I am filled with a feeling that I can't accurately describe, but it is not a pleasant feeling. This man is well educated, writes clearly, and yet his ideas are those of an elitist, disdainful and shallow man. His attempts to be funny fall flat, so that one gets the sense that he is not sure himself whether he is joking or not. And his blind devotion to conservative causes--and to the egregious reign of George Bush--are enough to disqualify his thoughts from serious contemplation. I just wish the TIMES would fire him. Certainly if they wish to have a conservative on the Op/Ed page they could find a more interesting one. And the smug photo of him that appears with his columns would make a fine dartboard. If only I played darts...

massive (headache)

I have had the most ungodly headache all day. No matter what I do--advil, water, rest, darkness, silence, caffeine, more advil--it tortures me. I used to get migraines at least once a month but it has been a long time since I have had one, until now. I have to figure out something...

can't sleep

I tried. I stayed up until 12:30 am. But I woke up at 4 am, wide awake. I tried to go back to sleep, but to no avail. So here I am at 7:06, having been awake for three hours.

look closely

Brooklyn Heights, being a "historic district" and home to an increasingly affluent population, looks quite neat and well-preserved. But if you look closely it still has a more gritty urban side.

Fire!

Around the neighborhood there are these old call boxes for the fire department. I don't think any of them work. This one most certainly does not.

watch your step

While I was waiting for my car to be examined I took Mabel on a long walk. I had my camera with me. Everywhere you look there is construction. The ever-busy Jehovah's Witnesses are constantly building and rebuilding. They are meticulous, and they have laid out this maze of a walkway on Columbia Heights. They all look so neat and tidy in their little hard hats. Once a friend of mine from out of town remarked that the majority of them, the young ones who build things, look gay. I would have to agree.

missing

I wonder if anyone noticed the kid was missing a shoe.

$$

I have a complex relationship with money. I work in a field where many of my peers come from affluent families, or have independent wealth; this wealth enables them to engage in a profession (artist, educator) that pays little. And in the past six or seven years Brooklyn Heights, always home to a certain number of wealthy folk, has become extremely expensive and thus the population is disproportionately wealthy. So I am surrounded by signs of affluence. Yet I myself am not; had I not had the foresight to buy my apartment when I did, there is no way I could afford to live here; there is no way I could afford to live in NYC unless I lived in the far outer boroughs. I have some savings, but I worry a lot about extra expenses, like the cost of car repair, veterinary bills for my pets...I have little cushion if something goes wrong. I know that many people are far worse off than I. But I also know that while money does not buy happiness (this is obvious) it does insulate one from some of the little worries that can eat away at a person. I would not have to decide "do I get the car fixed or do I get Tuna's teeth cleaned?" "Can I afford to go to the dentist this month, or do I wait until winter?"

sharp edges

The yucca plant has beautiful leaves which radiate from a central stem. It grows easily under rough conditions, and is a favorite houseplant as long as it gets enough bright sun. I had a huge yucca plant, a somewhat exotic variety, but during the winter it succumbed to some sort of bug, powdery mildew or scale (I was not sure which) and I had to get rid of it.

But beware, because the edges of its leaves are quite sharp and can leave a nasty cut if you are not careful.

belly

Mabel's favorite game might be "Belly." She lies on her back on the sofa or the bed, and twitches all four legs at once, thrusting them upward like she is trying to launch her entire body into the air. She makes demonic noises and faces when she plays Belly.

unique

I know this sounds cynical, but it occurred to me last night, as I read the harrowing article about death in the NEW YORK TIMES magazine, and then reading some random blogs this morning, I thought that we all do the same things, and try to understand the same aspects of our human condition: life, love, hurt, sorrow, joy, tedium. And we all face the same fate, our days dwindling, whether we face up to it or not. So as much as I might wish that I am some special, singular person, I am really just one in a great sea of humans going through the same cycle as everyone else. Does this make sense? What is unique is the "surface" of our lives. Like snowflakes, each of us has a unique shape, but it is our similar properties that makes us all just part of the huge human snowpile (forgive my metaphor; it's cheesy, I know). So if I think I am unique, I am just indulging my ego.

patience

My beloved car is trying my patience. Now it seems to be leaking oil. I don't think it is a bad leak, but I will have to get it checked this week.

Million Dollar Baby

I had not seen MILLION DOLLAR BABY in the theater, when it quietly became all the rage among moviegoers and critics. I avoided it because, reading about it in reviews, I felt it would be overly sentimental and I am not generally a fan of sentimental Hollywood movies. Last night I watched it. It really did get me, although it was blatantly sentimental and full of cliché. But how could it not be, given the "pulp fiction" nature of the story? The acting was poetic, the cinematography also. The fight scenes were terrible and wonderful (the ancient Greeks had a word for that, "daenos." I don't like boxing. I don't have the stomach for it. But I could not take my eyes off of the screen during those short, staccato sequences. Bravo to Clint Eastwood. And to Morgan Freeman. And most of all to Hilary Swank. She is awesome.

More House in PA

This is the front of the house, as seen from River Road looking northwest.