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Tuesday, January 23, 2001
2:30 p.m. I realized
the other night -- and *just* the other night -- that I'm
never going to be "finished" and I'm never going to not be
in some sort of trouble, somewhere -- with someone. I
promise a lot and I fail at a lot of those promises.
8:07 p.m. I have felt
somewhat moody today, alternating between thoughtful and
deeply, heavily sad. Meanwhile, I've been reading an article
about Ecstasy, the drug, and up until today I thought I
could say that I almost always feel full of ecstasy.
Bouncing off the walls with joy, I usually am ...
... at least while the sun is out. All things are
possible, and there's all the time in the world. Then, as
the day funnels into the bottleneck of 4 p.m., a sort of
fatigued panic sets in, it's true ...
But today, just a heavy heart that I'm sure could use a
couple of Pamprin. But, I'm too ... you know ... to
bother.
1:27 a.m. No matter
what, I still end up here, late at night, cleaning up and
buttoning up the day.
Did I mention that I didn't finish everything on my to-do
list? Of course, there's the last ivy leaf to worry about,
so it's just as well. It's an old story I once saw on TV, or
perhaps I read it in a magazine somewhere ...
... there's this old, old man, see. He's dying, lying in
his hospital bed, dying. Lying. Staring out the window at
the -- obvious -- brick wall, but this particular wall has
an old ivy vine growing on it. It's winter, it's gnarled,
there's only a single leaf left.
The old man, lying and dying, fixates on the leaf and
hangs on as long as the leaf is hanging on and lo and behold
he makes it to spring and his relatives come and gather him
up and he goes home to live a longer, if nonetheless
gnarled, life of his own.
We dolly over to the window, move in for a closer look at
the stubborn old leaf after he's gone. It's painted on, of
course.
So, it's probably best that there's still some items on
the to-do list, or that would be the end of me, right then
and there. Gotta hang on, you know.
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