Furtive glances. You’ve seen them. The knowing looks exchanged between people who share a secret—in the context of a group of others who don’t. Their shared knowledge may relate to their own (or someone else’s) real or hoped-for clandestine love affair. Or the impending invasion of (or by) a foreign (or their own) country. Or expectations of a jury’s decision following a sensational murder trial. Or dozens of other circumstances in which the glimpses, themselves, can reveal almost as much as (or more than) dialogue to the witnesses to the convert eye contact between the parties. Generally, furtive glances seem to be more common on the television or film screen than in real life, but they occur virtually all the time, everywhere. Reality, after all, is the source that provides fodder for writers and actors who incorporate those flashes of secret acknowledgement into sources of our entertainment. Furtive glances in the real world carry with them considerably more potential for last-lasting effects, though, than do secrets shared as part of a writer’s arsenal of tactics. Furtive glances can change the course of personal histories. Yes?
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I viewed a side-by-side photo composition of Kevin Spacey (in his role as President Frank Underwood in House of Cards) and Donald Trump (in his role as candidate or president-elect) this morning. Spacey, his head and neck erect and wearing a dark blue suit, patterned white shirt, and light blue-teal tie, looked distinguished and dignified. Trump, his head and neck slumping slightly forward and wearing a garish—almost electric—blue suit, white shirt, and bright red tie, looked unkempt and smug, wearing the “colors” of an artificial patriot dressed to look like Superman’s great-grandfather. I am sure my perceptions of the men, based partly on their individual postures and how they were dressed, were amplified by my attitudes about their personalities. Spacey has been accused of sexual assault of y0ung men, just as Trump has been accused of sexual assault of women. But other aspects of their personalities either amplify or diminish my understanding of their unique characteristics (I wanted to used “qualities,” but could not bring myself to use the word…characteristics will have to do). I wonder whether, were their histories and public personas reversed, my reactions to the same photo would have been reversed, as well? I’ve always been taught that their appearance should not be used to judge people; but I wonder whether I have learned, instead, to use character and behavior to judge appearance? Just curious…nothing especially important is embedded in this question, except for its relevance to my own character and behavior. Uh-huh.
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No injection yesterday; just the radiation treatment. I get both today. I learned yesterday that one of the main chemotherapy infusion drugs is being left out of the mix until the radiation regimen is finished; I am unsure why that decision was made, but I am sure I will learn at some point. If I see the oncologist or her nurse today, I may have the opportunity to ask. If, indeed, the withheld drug is responsible for my runny nose and nose bleeds, I hope that side-effect stops quickly. Even a short break from those annoyances would make me feel considerably happier. I am not feeling nearly as “chipper” yet as I normally do in the few days after chemo; the radiation is no doubt interfering with the post-chemo “high.” But not too terribly much. Crossing my fingers, knocking on wood, and otherwise appealing to the gods of superstitious drivel for a welcome reprieve from the madness of cancer and its bunch of surly bastard friends.
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The shredded hide of a banana, looking a little like a fat green and yellow and brown snake skin, sits on a paper towel on the desk beside me. An empty shot glass, recently relieved of its contents of espresso, is nearby, as are an empty carton of Ensure and a half-full bottle of Propel. My latest, and lingering, breakfast rut. This morning, though, in a while, I will eat last night’s leftover slices of tomato (topped with bleu cheese and drizzled with balsamic vinegar reduction) as a breakfast supplement. If I go overboard on eating (as suggested by the oncology nurse and others) for long, I may not be able to fit into my brand-new pairs of 34-inch-waist jeans. I tried them on last night and was pleased that they appear to be sized to stay on, even without a useless and over-long belt and suspenders. I think the largest jeans I ever worse were 44-inches in the waist; maybe only 42-inches. These new ones much be the smallest (or among the smallest) since I became an adult, if that ever actually happened. I do not want to lose all my muscle (such as remains, anyway), but I a delighted to have shrunk so much in a relatively short time.
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