As soon as mi novia wakes, I will fill the washer with a monstrous load of clothes. I have intended to take care of that for several days, but laziness/fatigue/tiredness/whatever have stood in my way. Because I tend to wear sweatshirts and sweatpants, every day adds quite a bit of volume to the laundry hamper. Washing and drying is not onerous. but putting clothes on hangers, for some reason, tends to sap my energy. Times like this—when I anticipate unlikeable chores—often spur me to think of silly solutions to “problems” that do not really need to be solved. My displeasure with hanging clothes, for example, has led me to consider the appeal of machines that could wash, dry, and fold/ hang clothes and lug them to the closet. I’ve also considered how nice (and utterly wasteful) it would be to wear disposable clothes that come in nicely pressed and folded bags…once worn, they could be shed and discarded or taken to a recycling center. Even better would be a jarring change in social acceptance of nudity; it would save water, electricity, time, and effort. For some bizarre reason, though, people seem to recoil at the idea of seeing my naked body—draped in folds of expanded skin that once held the shapes of the fat it held in check. I do not say the sight is appealing…only that it’s part of the real world. And, if I can tolerate the sight of others’ naked bodies, others should be willing to tolerate mine. Nudity has been given an undeserved bad rap since André and Evangelina (or whoever…) snagged a mango from a persimmon shrub. Or it may have been a cacahuate from a grape tree.
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I look forward to the first few days after a chemo treatment session. The energy boost provided by something in the chemical mix renews my energy for those few days. Until the most recent two or three chemotherapy sessions, my energy had begun to return a week or so afterward; now, though, the fatigue seems to last almost the full three weeks between sessions. The fatigue brought on by radiation may exacerbate that, though I am not quite sure how. I seem to get my energy back for a while, but shortly after the boost I feel suddenly and completely drained, as if I do not have enough strength to stand up or open my eyes. But that lasts only a short time; I get enough energy back for a bit, at least enough to function, more or less. I judge my level of strength by whether I need a cane to help with balance. If not, I’m on the high end of the energy spectrum. This bouncing up and down, but mostly down, in energy has become truly irritating. I know it’s part of the process, of course, but I had expected the chemo process to last for only four sessions. As of next Monday morning, I will have chemotherapy session number fourteen. At this point, I’m beginning to wonder whether these procedures will ever end; or whether I will before they do.
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Not so long ago, the collapse of modern civilization occupied the fantasies of only a few of us; people like dystopian novelists and die-hard pessimists. But, lately, the morning news not-so-obliquely suggests the merger of fantasy and reality are not so very far off. The new oligarchy is poised to rescind the massive, but inadequate, gains in matters of racial and sexual and gender equality of the last century—willingly aided by growing numbers of a bigoted populace. Open attacks on “woke” culture have become increasingly vicious and powerful, with promises that the strength of the aggression will grow exponentially. Equality is anathema to the new oligarchy. Indications suggest those in power would sooner burn society to cinders than support—or permit—efforts to bring about the principles of freedom and equality that have evolved from this country’s founding doctrines. And, as this country goes, eventually so goes the rest of the world. From what we have seen thus far, it is reasonable to believe the draconian changes will not occur gradually; they will infect the social order with breathtaking speed. Consider this: The Taliban remade Afghanistan into an Islamic state twenty years after its removal from a position of power; after resuming control in 2021, the country changed almost overnight. Without the obstacle of a twenty-year occupation, the transition might have been almost instantaneous. After January 20, 2025, the obstacles facing the new oligarchy in this country will be mere annoyances; not a 20-year guerilla war. Democracy is a contradiction of itself. Our own principles about democracy preclude us from engaging in insurrection. By relying on democracy to save us, we might just as well surrender before the fight begins. Ah, yes…we already waved the white flag at the ballot box. “No! It was not a mandate!” “Sorry, that’s the way democracy works.”
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The bright colors and elaborate designs of clothes worn by certain Black African men are appealing. But when White men wear such shirts and pants, the clothes (and the men wearing them) look silly and unnatural. I think it’s the pasty skin that ruins the look. The ebony skin of Black men seems to enhance the appeal of the colors and abstract designs of those styles of clothing. Though I do not think that White men wearing such clothes are necessarily engaged in appropriating Black culture, I think those guys are engaged in wishful thinking…wishing they looked as good in such colorful gear as their Black counterparts. I do not condemn the color of White men’s skin, nor do I think Black skin is any better than White skin. But skin color does seem to have a potentially positive (or negative) impact on the appearance of people who wear colorful (or even not-so-colorful) clothes. Another argument in favor of nudity, by the way.
