Now and Then

Fri 02/11/05 at 12:57 pm

The reason my blog has remained unposted for such a long while (except for the toss-off playoff bit) cannot be totally attributed to my unrequited love for nicotine. Before I launched this blog, I made a promise to myself that I would post what I wrote, shame-based life be damned. I kept my promise with the playoff entry — mostly because God told me if I didn’t post it the Vikings would most certainly lose. (Okay, I’m lying.) Although its continued existence on the site registers pretty high on the shame meter, thus far I’ve resisted the urge to sneak into the Movable Type application and delete the entry. (Besides, God told me if I did spacetime would be rearranged to nullify the victory.) (Okay, lying again.) Today, I keep my promise with respect to an entry I began early in November and tinkered with again later in the month. That clears out the backlog, and I’ll move on from there.

Memento mori.

It’s 4 in the morning,
the end of December . . .
Leonard Cohen

Well, actually the beginning of November. 4 in the morning is about right. 4:15 to be exact. At least that’s what time it was when I first sat down to write this entry. The 4 is right if we’re talking what day it is, though. I’m awake, prednisone. It’s been a rough couple of days, and I woke up with the words “memento mori” resounding through the inner reaches of my skull that sits in the center of the infinity that exists when I close my eyes. (I kind of get the existence of various infinities, and I like the idea of one with me as its center.) For those of you who don’t already know, Memento Mori is the title of a book by Muriel Spark. (How, if at all, is the meaning changed if I simply saywrite [M]emento Mori is a book by Muriel Spark?) Rhetorical question, at least for me today. Maybe I’ll answer it some other time. You all are, of course, free to answer it if you’d like. It’s probably revisionist history, but in my reality, Momemto Mori was the last book my mother read before she died of breast cancer in February 1970 at the age of 42. I was 15. Even if it wasn’t the last book she read, she certainly read it in the last year of her life. Not too long ago, I picked up a used copy of Momemto Mori somewhere in remembrance of Mom. Thank you Mother for imbuing me with a keen sense of irony — and for yet another “magical thinking” opportunity. I’ve just this very moment decided I might never get around to reading that book — I’ll just leave it as the final entry on my reading list. So many books . . .


As I write this, It is 6:11 a.m. and counting in “real” timespace (snicker) on Sunday, November 21, 2004. I have made some minor revisions to the above, but instead of integrating these present comments with the above, I leave them here. I was, once again, awakened by mortality about an hour ago. When I finally declared my disability, I did so, in part, because, I found I needed a good deal more sleep than usual to feel relatively good and stay relatively healthy. By not having to work, I gained an extra half-life or so in dog years. So now, when I wake up way early (for me), I view it as a gift of timespace, even if it means a nap later, because sometimes I don’t take one.

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