I hear the tiler on the second floor, Miguel from Colombia, doing his thing while his non-speaking apprentice cuts through tile on the outside lawn with a shrieker machine, annoying, I am sure, to the unknown neighbors. The neighbor to our left is a psychiatrist and his wife, a nurse; he works at a local university. He rents. As I type on these annoying chiclets, I feel fatigue. There is great news about my son which I’ll save for a better moment — he went out and hired a cast, got talented people about him including an Indie moviemaker and made a short documentary for the grand sum of $500. I am impressed but not surprised, elated for him and how he has broken through the matrix into his own reality. He is flying emotionally because he networked, advertised, organized and assembled a troupe of players and technicians as well as artists and made it happen. He is now an artistic doer! All this joy on the eve of Rochelle’s death, 10 years ago. Time flies as we die with it.
Two months ago Jane and I acted not on a whim but on strong feelings that Jane’s family was more than off the wall but at times vicious and that my ex was not only paranoid but also psychotic in that she was inventing situations. We investigated Nevada as best we could and made it happen. It has been a whirlwind adventure and there must be something to it because the street leading into our enclave is called Whirlwind Terrace. I know full well that months will pass before some semblance of regularity will take on shape and substance; meanwhile, I work on engaging other aspects of life, reading when I can, shopping, blogging, carping, kibitzing, being annoying, laughing, being more than annoying and being anxious and worrying, all the delectable aspects of being neurotic. Just note: neurotics build castles in the sky and psychotics live in them.
Although not having a landline phone installed as yet, we use our cell. I am enjoying the temporary stay off the grid. I don’t wear a watch — never did like the control of time. The lack of communication is just fine and the TV is not up as yet which is also just fine and what is really fine is my using Jane’s laptop to delete all those emails I thought were critical — Thoreau: “Simplify! Simplify!” We are afloat in Las Vegas — no contacts of substance as yet, no real sense of the place, no social glue, except for one brunch we attended with Holocaust survivors. One is in contact with me. I gave a short and spontaneous talk and engaged them, several asking me questions about how to write their own stories. I would like to teach creative writing with a group such as this one, but we will see.
I am just too tired to go on. So I end here.
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