Sagittarius 8° (November 30)
We will get in the car super early today and head back to the Cape with me in the passenger seat. There will be no traffic. And we arrive back in time for S. to go to a class; and though I feel just horrible, I will nonetheless use the time to completely unpack and start to get my head around the coming week and final month here before we take off. Things needing doing include writing to Jim and letting him know we are away. He has been writing me daily about the deck so I will let him dangle a little longer before voicing our plans. There is a call into S.’s derm otherwise I have to find someone this week. We have a back up plan for getting to Aberfeldy now in case the LLBs fall out. It seems we will switch plans and stay in the UK until we head to Paris. Not sure this is the smartest thing in the end but it could be the simplest. It is a matter of booking the right place. I will spend the better part of a morning reaching out to all my friends in London to inquire about potential places to stay. I will beef up my Paris profile, too, in the process. Everything is feeling just a little bit impossible. The plan is to have breakfast for dinner—for lunch, we had leftover vegetable soup that I made on Wednesday. But by the time evening rolls around we change that plan and I am pan roasting cauliflower in my cast iron skillet, to which I will add sauteed onion and anchovy and parsley and chicken stock, as a topping sauce for rice pasta. We plan on watching some serious films and yet we never get there. Instead we alight on the show Back to Life which I sort of love-hated.
There is this mandate for me to say more than this. It is like pulling teeth. I really don’t know where to begin. I feel as though I will disappoint myself in the coming weeks, once again. I have unrealistic expectations. I do do the same things over and over and think I’ll be spared the same results. It is definitely something I do. I have to make a sharp turn and stay off every kind of carb for the next nine days. As such I might have a ghost of a chance to shed a little before these upcoming parties. I will dust off the top hat I have sitting in the closet—a gift from a troll of a character with a nearby business. Really he’s just a crotchety thief of a pothead (and I think drug dealer too). One of the nasty sheep that find their way into one fold or other here on the tip of olde Cape Cod. Salonpas. There I said it. Been stuck in my brain all day. Had to get it out. Phew. I forwarded the information about the Orphans show on to Bill Mumy. I didn’t get any response. I must be resolved. I have begun perusing the people I need to approach. I sent out a whole bunch of FB pleas for people to give to the festival at the last of the year. Not a single response. I will do the same by email but I dare say it might be ineffectual. I could make an event of it I suppose but it just seems such a waste of time. I think I’m better off focusing on what I might achieve on larger, more scalable level. But first I must continue to invest in myself. And to that end I must look on the bright side or I’ll never move the spoon, so to speak. I have just a few weeks left on this rock and I’ve got to make the best of it. I look at my hands and they look weird and swollen like my father’s and it repulses me. I wonder if they will ever be slender again. Such a silly, selfish thought, perhaps.
I remember the feeling of anonymity growing up and how wonderful it was. That was the beauty of living in the 1970s. You could drive a truck through space and time that is how vast it felt. I could, as a kid, summers, at the Jersey Shore, walk out the door on any given weekday morning, the early warmth and floral smells pervading my being, the grainy cement of the sidewalk tickling my soles; and I could head off in any direction feeling every grain of my being. I suppose the answer is always meditation. I think that (and yoga) is the only answer to everything. I believe I have to stop and prioritize this. I have the resources to make this a part of my daily life. I can even go twice a day if I so choose. That’s what people who do yoga study do. Why should I not do the same. I see no reason to avoid the obvious. We have to find ways, nowadays, to recapture the natural spirit of how things should be. I am not contributing anything to the world writing this Blague as of late. I can tell I am creatively dry by the nature of this work. It’s okay so long as this dry spell gives rise to something better. It cannot all be fertile output all the time. We have to go through these spells. I think of all the transmutations of this endeavor. There have been so many incarnations. In the first year it was all about following the Sabian symbols; then it became a platform for various other creative and academic ideas. It also served as a kind of psychological exercise. There have been moments of Dada insanity. I do wish to go to Venice but I think maybe the winter is the only time to go after all. I’m going to champion that instinct. I will write to them today for sure. At the core I will get down to absolute basics. I will completely batten down the hatches in my office and begin to catalogue my books in librarian fashion. I will be more brutal in my editing of clothing from my wardrobe. These things will happen in the coming days as I plan my proverbial exit.
To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree pointof the Sabian Symbol will be one degree higher than the one listed for today. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°, for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360 degrees spread over 365 or 6 days per year—so they near but not exactly correlate.
Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
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