14 February 2001
Getting back to this journal was easier said than done. And I don't have a really good excuse. There are chunks of time that I "waste" in the evenings. I ought to be doing useful things, of course, but I end up sitting with Ma, watching TV. She likes the company. I wish I could work over at Ma's, but it's impossible for me to get anything done with the TV blaring. If I'm lucky there's something interesting on PBS; if not, I practice silk reeling, or qigong, and and Ma watches stupid TV shows— or dozes...
Ma's place is terrible for anything but static t'ai chi practice. It's very small and the floors are amazingly uneven. I can deal with the floor, but, really, the TV noise takes the pleasure out of practice for me. The silk reeling and qigong are different, though. They aren't the source of that moving magic I feel, and doing them I can blot out the TV noise. It's more like work, but the silk reeling has done wonders for my shoulder. That's something.
Used to be I'd head home after the news. Then I'd spend a few hours writing, then fall into bed and only get up half an hour before I had to leave for work. Now, though, if I stay up to write, I have to get myself up early enough to practice. And much as I love t'ai chi, I need sleep. Rats. Writing, t'ai chi, & sleep. I choose sleep and t'ai chi. Probably in that order. (I must be getting old.)
Oh, I still keep the paper journal in the odd moments, but, the online journal is different. I can't just transfer the paper journal to these pages. I wish I could, but, it's impossible. I'm just not "talking" to the same person here.
I just looked at the clock. So much for Valentine's Day 2001. I didn't bother to go to the post office to see if I had any Valentines. No. (I never do.)
I read somewhere that Cupid has two kinds of arrows in his quiver. One kind bestows mutual love on the shootee and shootee's chosen object of affection; the other kind bestows only unrequited love on the shootee. Bummer. I know I've been shot a few times, but I'll tell you this: I can not say for sure what kind of arrows I've been shot with. Certainly, once, I had a bad case of unrequited love, but the other times, well... I think the problem may not have been the kind of arrow so much as Cupid's lousy marksmanship. See, I'm thinking that if he hits you anywhere but square in the heart, the love goes awry. And the way things have gone for me the times I've been shot, I think I must've been hit in the ass.
Time for bed. Got to get up and practice—
You know, it could be that Cupid is a very fine marksman. Maybe he just likes to shoot people in the ass.
If it is the kind of arrow that matters, maybe, one of these days, Cupid'll run out of the "unrequited" kind. Or, if I'm lucky, he could shoot me with on of the other kind by mistake. Could happen.
Copyright © 2001 New Moon