Just as walking through the lobby of a swank hotel with a dagger clinched between one’s jaws is not necessarily threatening to the hotel’s patrons, revealing one’s harmless curiosity about another person’s private thoughts or behaviors can appear anything but innocuous. Innocent interest may be mistaken for unhealthy, unhinged, menacing psychopathy. Flamboyant behavior might incorrectly be read as a signal that the person exhibiting it is about to launch into a murderous frenzy. Most of us realize flamboyant behavior can be upsetting to observers; but we might not be capable of properly distinguishing the occasionally vague line between curiosity and prurience. That being the case, people tend to rein in their curiosity, for fear of being mislabeled and/or misunderstood. That is a shame, because knowing innocent but intimate details of how and what a person thinks can create a powerfully comfortable familiarity. Suspicion about whether questions suggest sinister motives hinders honesty. We do not allow ourselves to ask questions that are too personal and we avoid answering such questions posed to us. We hide ourselves and hide from others. Revealing too much of ourselves, we think, is dangerous; knowing too much about others is equally perilous. Perhaps the only safe way to satisfy one’s curiosity about others is to place them under hypnosis before questioning them about their most intimate thoughts and emotions. But that does not sound especially safe, does it?
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I had planned to join men from church for coffee and breakfast this morning, but I am not quite in the mood for conversation. I have missed many, many Thursday morning gatherings, thanks in large part to doctor visits, chemo treatments, and/or reactions to treatments. Today is one of the few Thursdays I could go, but my mood today calls for solitude this morning. We plan to go to a wine dinner this evening and I hope and expect to go to church on Sunday to listen to our church pianist discuss his personal history. Beyond that, I think the next week will be quiet. My next chemo treatment is scheduled for next Thursday; if my experience is like the last one, I’ll be extremely tired, achy, and dealing with annoying but tolerable pain for several days thereafter. Chemo makes me feel worn out for days and days, though for some reason I feel quite good for a few intermittent days between fatigue and gloom. Still, I have it pretty easy compared to many people who must suffer through far more excruciating experiences than I. I try to keep reminding myself of that fact so I can avoid indulging in undeserved self-pity.
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A shroud of fog envelopes the forest around our house this morning. I am glad the sun is hidden by the fog and clouds. Gloomy days like this one, so far, can feel far more comforting than mornings emblazoned with bright sunshine. Those kinds of days, which attempt to demand cheerfulness and sparkling energy, sometimes are hard to take. Dull grey days that echo my mood are friendlier and more understanding and accommodating.
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Depression is rage spread thin.
~ George Santayana ~
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We’ve lately been watching a series (Wire in the Blood) on Acorn TV that stars Hermione Norris. A British police action/drama series, we came across it while I was looking for Scandinavian crime dramas (I’ve been missing them…). I would not call it a favorite, but it has kept my attention. Seeing the star’s first name, Hermione, triggered a vague memory from my late teenage years or early adult years (a wide span, but that’s as close as I can get to precision), in which one of my brothers brought a chicken named Hermione to the house. My memory tells me Hermione was temporarily held in a metal garbage can one day and my brother, the chicken master, taunted another brother by telling him Hermione was an aggressive, dangerous chicken. My memories rarely are entirely reliable, though.
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Three hours into it, I will now wade through the rest of the day.
