She examines her life, making clinical observations about living so many years barely above the surface of a spoiled pool of congealed reality. Those empty years cannot be repaired. Memories will not permit her to forget all her unfortunate choices—an enormous collection of regrettable decisions that exacerbated one another. She could have predicted the consequences of the actions she took and the judgments she made. She could have made course corrections that would have taken down a different path. But she decided, instead, to ignore the potential outcome of every bad decision. From her warped perspective, considering the consequences of choices would have been equivalent to abandoning the freedoms she cherished. So, after all those years, she looks back at the carnage of her life and wonders how it all might have been different. Four failed marriages, five years in a women’s prison, and a guarantee of living out her life in grinding poverty lead her to make what might be her final choice. Whatever decision she makes, no one will give it more than passing notice, because she has always chosen not to matter.
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Weather forecasts for today call for temperatures to remain in the low to mid seventies for most of the day, topping out a tad above 80°F around 5 pm. Light rain is expected until around midday, when the skies will begin to clear and air will begin to get warmer. I will experience little of this first-hand. Instead, I will gaze out the window and wonder when, and whether, I will feel enthusiastic about exploring the world outside the environment of my self-imposed prison cell. Everything could change, of course. I may feel a rush of energy at any moment. It has been known to happen.
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The lyrics for the Simon and Garfunkel song, America, move me. One stanza in particular tugs at my heart-strings: “Kathy, I’m lost”, I said, though I knew she was sleeping, “I’m empty and aching and I don’t know why.” Another phrase from the lyrics echoes something I like to do: make up fanciful stories about strangers I come across. I remember having a very nice dinner with my late wife at a pricey restaurant in San Antonio, Texas, where I told her stories about the people sitting at the tables around us. It was a silly experience, but one we both enjoyed. And I still make up such stories, though not as frequently as I once did. It is harder these days to embrace the silliness; but I do it when I can muster the mood.
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Lethargic. Sluggish. Slow and deliberate. That’s me this morning. I hope to feel more lively sometime soon…later today or, certainly, later this week. A visit with friends who touched base with mi novia a day or two ago would be nice. A short day-trip would be great. But finally getting around to my long-delayed taxes might be even more of a stress-reliever. Time will tell the story.
