Reading the news is akin to stumbling into an extremely hot sauna—the vapors for which are supplied by filthy water, acetone, and gasoline—and hearing the door lock behind you.
Greenland. Panama. The Gulf of America. Zero percent containment of hurricane-force wind-driven wildfires. The very existence of Elon Musk and his symbiotic, psychotic, power-driven, narcissist puppet. How many times must I admonish myself to avoid intentional exposure to such damaging “understanding of world news?” Revolution may well have been the only answer, but the time for effective resistance, I fear, has passed.
There was a time when I fancied a beautiful, modern house overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Not just a fanciful house; a real house—available for sale—I encountered online. As I recall, the price was exceptionally low for such a magnificent place…$260,000 sticks in my mind. I should have bought it. It had a beautiful pool, a whirlpool, and the entire ocean-facing side consisted of enormous windows. I could have resurrected, and then vastly improved, my Spanish and lived peacefully, without television, internet, and newspapers. I could have forgotten the world outside my immediate surroundings. And I would have been too far removed from excellent medical care to have discovered my cancer (first round) early enough to staunch its spread. And I would, in all likelihood, be dead by now. There’s something to be said about missing the decay of modern civilization.
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Very little sleep last night. I went to bed early, as usual, but by 11:00 PM I had not had even a hint of sleep. Sometime during the night I drifted in and out of consciousness, but I doubt I ever reached a true state of slumber. I got up a couple of times to eliminate some of the massive volumes of water I consumed during the day, but did not feel sufficiently rested to rise for the morning. At 5:00 PM, I rose for a third bladder call, only to return to bed until 7:00, when I got up. That is when I realized the store of bananas had been depleted, so my usual (of late) breakfast was not an option. I am hungry, though. If life were fair, I would be able to call for delivery of a quart of miso soup…made the way I like it. Lots of dashi, lots of tiny pieces of nori, miso paste, firm cubes of tofu, and water. I like mine livened up a bit with sambal oleek and a spritz or six of low sodium soy sauce. I haven’t had miso soup in far too long. Ditto a version of a Chinese dish I love, congee: rice cooked until it’s mushy, with rice, chicken stock, fresh ginger, fried shallots, minced pork, green onions, and white pepper. And sambal oleek, because I have an inexplicable passion for sambal oleek. The problem, of course, is that I have neither the ingredients to make these dishes, the energy to do the work even if the ingredients were readily and hand, and no sources that would deliver them to me. Damnitall!
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You do not want to read any more of this rubbish. I do not want to write any more of it for now. So, I shall stop. I will be back. Some day.
