It's weird, but I've had a sense of tension all day long. My morning was fine: woke up later than usual, bottled my coffee and brought it to work. Work went fine: did a couple jobs, read the news, delivered some postcards and got new stamps (lighthouses). Biked home and, at a friend's suggestion, stopped by the Sculpture Garden. With my camera mounted to my handlebars, I took a very jerky video of crossing the bridge from Loring Park to the Sculpture Garden, then walked to the grove just north of the Spoon Bridge. There were dozens of wind chimes suspended in the branches of the trees, and it was surprisingly peaceful to be surrounded by. (I took a video of that, too, but I know better than to attempt to load videos to Blogger.)
Then I went home. If anything, I was feeling a little sore about a "discussion" on Facebook, where I discovered a friend of mine holds some pretty staunch Conservative values. I won't misrepresent her position here but the matter was health care reform and though we agreed on certain points, she also believes a number of things I find objectionable. It sucks when something like this happens. All afternoon I've been careful not to pile fuel onto the fire, though her brother was insulting. The concept of courtesy falls outside the Conservative repertoire.
Then Rebecca and I went to Deb & Tom's house. I sat with her parents and Wesley, while R. and her sisters had another discussion about home care for Eddie for the near and long-term future. There are several issues involved with this and it is an unruly mess to untangle and organize, though everyone's hearts are in the correct places. I don't know what help I was, though: Wesley made food and cleaned dishes, while I was only receptive to what conversation might occur. I'm willing to help, but I don't know what help I was.
Rebecca's staying with her parents tonight and I'm home with the cats. I redesigned the banner for The Haunted Notebook, which was fun but sounds petty compared to being alienated from a friend and family emergencies. It's even harder to write about here: I'm forcing myself to type something just to have new material in this blog. Small Laws has been neglected all weekend: becoming inured to incessant, relentless, ubiquitous law-breaking and criminality means that it's less and less topical and I begin to sound and feel like a broken record. It's hard to get hepped-up about a cyclist or a motorist running yet another stop sign. At least I still have things to talk about in Postalatry. How sad is that, when a visit to the post office is more interesting than your own life?
Well, I don't think I can kill any more time: guess I have to force myself to fall asleep and prepare for tomorrow's whole new mess, whatever it may be. There really is nothing more to look forward to; there are only large and small disasters, whether we have it in us to cope with either.