A few days ago, when I received my regular premium notice for my car insurance, I was surprised to see a significant increase. Though the figure was small in absolute dollars, it was enough of a bump to catch my attention and cause me to plan to call my agent to inquire about the reason for the increase. An online article I read this morning gave me the reason: auto insurance rates across the board have increased significantly of late. While the increases are not universal (the adjustments are, apparently, made on a state-by-state basis), they are very widespread. Insurers have increased rates to parallel higher costs associated with more expensive repairs, a higher number of accidents, and various other factors that cause their costs to go up. Inflation finds a way to burrow its way into almost every facet of our financial lives. Individually, we have little control. But if we were to collectively exercise better judgment and safer driving habits, we might contribute to minimizing increases in our insurance rates. That is true of so many collective behaviors, though, isn’t it? We do have a degree of control over circumstances that impact our lives; we simply fail to change our collective behaviors to exert that control.
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With one eye open, I looked at the clock: 2:45 a.m.—I was wide awake, which was no surprise, considering how much I slept yesterday afternoon and evening. I thought about trying to get back to sleep, but by 3:00 a.m. I gave up on the idea. So, here I am, just before 4:00 a.m., spilling my thoughts onto the screen. Though I understand that, among the effects of chemotherapy, fatigue is one of the most significant ones (for the kind of therapy I am receiving), I remain surprised at the rapid oscillation between being energetic and feeling utterly drained. Maybe I am not really surprised; I am just unprepared for suddenly feeling like I need to sleep for several days…weeks…months. And then, just as suddenly, I wake and am ready to conquer the world. Ready, I said. Unfortunately, not able. Perhaps another espresso will empower me to change the my world.
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I took a break from writing this post to compose a short email message to an acquaintance from my past life as an association executive. Email is my preferred form of communication for several reasons: 1) it’s easy to be spontaneous; 2) it requires no stamps; 3) it does not require me to know the recipient’s cell phone number (so, no text messages); 4) I can send email from my phone or my desktop computer; 5) etc. Text messaging has become far more popular than email, I think—and I frequently use text messaging—but texts tend to be limited in length in order to be readable. I am not known for the brevity of my written communication, so email is better for me. Yet, if I were a better, more thoughtful, less slothful, human being, I would write letters. The kind that require stamps and envelopes and more focused attention. On rare occasions in the not-so-distant past, I have written and mailed letters, but have been unable to discipline myself to make the practice a habit. I admire people who do. When I say “write letters,” by the way, I mean type and print letters on 8½ x 11 paper, My handwriting is the physical equivalent to sheer monstrosity and is not something to which I would want to expose to people for whom I care even a little. I have written something like that before; I tend to repeat myself from time-to-time, as well.
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My second little demitasse cup of freshly-brewed expresso sits on my desk at my right hand, ready and willing to imbue me with additional energy. Unlike many people, caffeine does not seem to interfere with my sleep, so I can (though very rarely do) drink coffee and its family of refreshments at night. I will admit, though, that enough espresso can get me really and truly wired. My first experience with that reality occurred during a staff meeting, held at an Italian restaurant, of an association where I worked for a short time (a year or so). During the course of the post-luncheon meeting, I think I ordered about five espressos; by the time I had consumed the fifth one, the speed of my speech had increased about three-fold and my bodily movements mirrored my speech. My behavior at the table become a subject that elicited laughter for months afterward.
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Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.
~ Anais Nin ~
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Related to my comments about espresso/caffeine, I sometimes question the genesis of our habit (in this culture, at any rate) of drinking caffeine drinks early in the day and limiting alcoholic drinks to later in the day and into the early evening. I think it might be interesting to intentionally flip that on its head. The idea of wine with breakfast, though, does not appeal to me, so other changes would have to be made. Breakfast in the afternoon hours, perhaps, accompanied by coffee. Dinner in the wee hours, before sunrise, accompanied by wine. And a postprandial cocktail as the sun peeks above the horizon. I am not a night owl, by any means, so I would have to work hard to train myself to adjust my “days” to reflect those changes. I like the idea of having a small group of friends to share the adjustment. They might arrive at my home around 2:00 a.m. for cocktails, followed by dinner at 3:00. Such quirky ideas appeal to me for some reason. Am I utterly alone in finding this concept appealing—at least worth giving it a shot? Sigh…I do not expect to be overwhelmed by enthusiastic supporters.
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Another visit to the oncologist’s clinic today with yet another infusion, just like yesterday. I cannot plan my days anymore; my plans tend to be ripped to shreds by telephone calls, telling me I need to return for more injections or “labs” or infusions. I will try not to complain, though, because these little inconveniences might well forestall my death for a while longer. I am in favor of that. The longer the better.
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The five o’clock hour has come and I remain perfectly happy to keep writing about… nothing in particular. Mindless scribbling with the tips of my fingers, though, will do nothing but lengthen an already long post, making it less and less likely that anyone will wade all the way through the morass. So, to avoid putting anyone who might have read this far into an even more difficult entanglement, I will stop writing for now. One day—soon, perhaps—I may return to writing fiction. Something that, in spite of its irrelevance to anyone’s daily life, might actually be worth reading.
