"Rubber ball (I'll come bouncing back to you)
Bouncy bouncy"
Bobby Vee

Another day, another mood. You have my deepest sympathy for yesterday's post. I almost deleted it, decided not to. Here's the deal: I'm listening to a book--Peter Straub, no less, my first foray into his writing, and that out of desperation because there was nothing remotely, vaguely interesting on the bookmobile and it was 4:55. So I'm listening to this book and yesterday there's a description of an event, an action taken by one of the characters that sounds so appealing as a way of dealing with my problems and the way I have to deal with life. OK, that drugged me way down. My work, my day got me better. I still have those problems, I still have to work with great effort at exhibiting appropriate behavior. That is still a heavy burden for me. But I had some good interactions during the day with nice people who said nice things to me about me (positive reinforcement: to wit "Do you dogs want a bickie?" when the dachshunds came in from pretending to poop outdoors when my Skinnerian father was in charge of the dogs). Anyway, good things, successful behavior during the day.

Today, same book, description of funeral. Again, tears. This time we're reliving loss, anticipating loss, knowing what it's like to go to a funeral, go through the process, and of course the inevitable desperate loss of my brother. But effect not as profound as yesterday, not as destructive--not focused on ME, yes there are other people in the world.

So what else is going on? We had a storm, now it's cold. Two degrees this morning. I was wondering if that isn't a bit extreme for December, but then I realized: it's December! That's winter. I thought the same thing last night when I was trying to figure out which wood pile to get wood from. Save that wood for winter, when it's really cold. Hey, wait: it IS winter and it IS really cold. It's ok to use the good wood that's closer to the house. I forgot to stoke the stove before going to bed last night and the living room was 53 this morning. Luckily I was up early to start a fire, get it going like a champ so I could stoke it for the day. What a difference a wood stove makes in my house. I have electric baseboard heat (the cheapest backup heat we could get when we were in a hurry to finish the house to pay off the $13,000 we owed in capital gains taxes because of the sawmill blahblahblah) and it just can't heat the house. ANYWAY: good for me. I got the fire all set and will come home to a warm house.

My work in Saranac Lake is great. Cataloging some amazing stuff, some boring stuff, some mystery stuff. Yesterday I couldn't figure out the provenance of a book, no matter how much time I spent on it. Another book and I figured out that, of course the poet spent time in a tuberculosis san, in fact died there (oh, the tragedy of it). Then there was the collection of poems written about a boy's camp, waxing poetic about nights in the woods in 1959. Well, you have to keep them all in a unique collection like that one. So it's an interesting project and I think I'll be doing it until I retire, I'm moving at a snail's pace.

Which reminds me:
There's a terrible car accident between a turtle and a snail. Both are badly injured. A policeman comes to investigate. The only witness is a snail. Policeman questions the snail: "Can you tell me what happened?" Snail says: "I don't know officer, it all happened so fast."

I like that joke. A few years ago Henry and I shared a bunch of snail jokes . He'd call at odd times and tell me a few.

Today's (work) task: finish The history of the American stomach so I can write a review for Library Journal. It's a short book, which is strange because the author throws stuff in as if he's done a lot of scholarly research. Right now we're back to the Puritans (I thought we'd moved on when we started talking about national days of fasting during the Civil War--yeah, like the prisoners had special days of fasting) and the cleansing act of vomiting, which removes evil spirits. Author swears this is the first history of vomiting in U.S. I question that but am not sure how to verify it. Besides, if it's the first one, there's not much more than a few pages. Dissertation, anyone?

So yes, I'm better. But I'll get worse this afternoon when I see my psychiatrist. Oh how I'll suffer in front of him. Last month he told me how much better I seemed. Well knock me off my pony isn't that just the way my life works.

I also have to meet with someone at my bank because it seems I have completely screwed up my account and have spent waaaay more than I have. Gotta love those online payments. Also gotta write them down. Apparently the charges just come pouring in to the bank. Trudy called me at home yesterday and left a message imploring me to call her back. Heavy sigh. I've had this account for 24 years so I'm hoping they'll give me some sort of break, if not at least compassion.

Is this day better than the last? In terms of my being able to cope with it, absolutely. In terms of what I have to cope with? No, I don't think so. My family thinks my life is complicated. I think of it as a series of anecdotes.