Loneliness and solitude live in the same neighborhood, but not necessarily in the same house. The subtle differences between them, sometimes hard to see, mimic the conflicts between aching or longing and satisfaction. Loneliness rushes in to fill a cold, empty room with harsh, dangerous, frigid air—anything to keep the vacuum from collapsing into itself. Solitude, on the other hand, fills a vacant space with warm, comfortable places to think and seals the entry. But loneliness can pick locks and pry open doors. And loneliness can strap an occupant to a chair and set fire to the furniture with embers from the hearth.
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Compulsory visits to the ill or wounded often look and feel artificial, as if the mandate had been crafted from papier-mâché and slavery. Those obligatory moments constitute forced expressions of concern, intended to demonstrate care and compassion. The authenticity of voluntary visits, though, is as clear and it is unexpected. Their spontaneity is a surgeon’s scalpel, severing the fabric of loneliness like an excised tumor.
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Light rain today is expected to be the prelude to snow, ice pellets, and temperatures as low as 3°F from Friday through Monday. Monday’s forecast calls for clearing skies, but Tuesday is expected to deliver more freezing rain. My memory tells me the second half of January seems to have an annual habit of growing bitter and unfriendly; but my undependable memory may tell me lies. I do not relish the onslaught of frigid temperatures and solid and semi-solid forms of water. Such assaults on my physical comfort and mental health provide clear evidence of Mother Nature’s disregard for me. Fortunately, though, we have an adequate store of ice cream to get us through…just as long as the power does not go out. If that happens, we’ll have to choose between ice cream overindulgence or ice cream waste.
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Parts of last night’s dream are clear. I came upon a black puppy on a busy suburban street. To keep it safe from cars, I put a leash on it and went looking for its master. I walked quite a long way without finding its owner, but I encountered a married (I think) couple who were veterinarians. They had just attended a veterinary conference like one for which I had arranged speakers. It gets a little fuzzy from there. I parked my late sister’s car in a grocery car parking lot and went shopping. When I was ready to leave, I discovered I did not have the car keys, nor did I have a phone. And I did not know her address. At some point, I tried to hoist the veterinarians over the top of a massive pile of discarded old refrigerators, but the pile was too high. A nearby river, which was flowing above us, started leaking onto us. I offered to drive them to their hotel, but first I had to drop someone else off at home. That involved freeway travel many miles in the opposite direction of the veterinarians’ hotel. Something else interfered. The dream dissolved into a quagmire of unintelligible gunk at that point.
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I will leave in an hour for another trip to the oncologist today to received my umpteenth chemotherapy treatment. I have stopped counting. I wonder if the treatments will ever end…or whether they will continue until the end of my time? My last treatment was two weeks ago…or more(?). Yet I have felt approximately miserable, off and on, for the past few days. Unpleasant enough, last night, that I went to bed around 6:30 p.m., though could not sleep for several hours. Ach!
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If I had it to do over again, I would move into a hotel during the kitchen and bathroom renovations. The workers are as accommodating as possible, but there is only so much (but not enough) they can do to make the process unintrusive. I wonder whether my brother’s construction project is underway? His is actually important. Our is aesthetically desirable.
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