I read a thing in New Yorker about

I read a thing in New Yorker about how some Lyme illnesses are hard to treat— there are multiple possible illnesses from the bite of the black-legged (not “deer”?) tick. And yeah, and no—chronic pain—yikes. M said it didn’t used to be spouses who’d automatically make the pull-the-plug decisions.

Headed to court this morning—well, McCourt. Saw Beardy yesterday—M wonders how often he eats there. She said I should ask him. That seems rude, I said, and that he’s better as a character anyway. I’m sure he’s not actually all that interesting to talk to.

So, all the the time, well, so much of the time, I spend thinking that my writing in journals and in pocket pages is interesting (and, you know, I don’t always want to write intense texts like yesterday’s posting). (Dog came in and he’s drinking—did he just drink out of smaller water dish, then bigger one?) My rice is done—I could eat my breakfast before going to McD.

Notes on my hand from last night, pre-bed:

— the text I wrote yesterday about getting beyond abstraction—it, in a way, furthers my interests in the comic I wrote last fall about the non-sensory abstraction—I do feel I was hewing deeper into the good wood, cutting away the slack. I mean, I don’t know where my goal is, but the hewing is the focus. Well, that’s the openness I try to stay close to (like painting near the ceiling tiles? I gotta be there, close—eh, these metaphors suck).

Anyway, yeah, so, I felt last night apparently like, as good as that writing session felt, it would be wrong to privilege that as more real than other parts of life (as that Hard Core Zen book says), but what a funny thing: how better to not be engaged than to start worrying about what my engagement means—blerg.

At diner yesterday, some notes:

There were two soups, chicken noodle and beef barley (or, if not much meat in it, “beef barely”—har). But then I wondered about what we call soup, and we don’t name all the ingredients: what if there were “just barley” soup—barley & water? Or beef & water—or two meats, beef & chicken (with or without other ingredients). Most soups seem centered around the meat—but I guess I could try making some minimalist soups as a cook—what about (as an idea) beef burley– beef & tobacco soup (though nicotine is a poison).

[From journal of Thurs., 27 June 2013, Journal 179, page 61-2]

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