"Most truths are so naked that people feel sorry for them and cover them up, at least a little bit." -- Edward R. Murrow
It's only Tuesday? I'm behind on work, I still have to finish my column and then jump to the calendar event of the week, which is partially done. I'm just so distracted lately, and I have not been in the mood to write anything more than incoherent ramblings in my journal, and here, of course.
My mother gives me a hard time about not writing about her as often as I write about my dad. I bring your attention to the quotation above as my one and only response to her pushing, prodding, and digging for a sufficient excuse.
Yesterday morning my editor passed away, the woman who discovered me and pulled me from that hell hole of a law firm and placed me where I am now, working from home and doing what I love, even though, during such moments as these, I don't feel like doing even that, what I love. I spent a good portion of the day yesterday moping and crying, selfishly of course, for the loss of a mentor, a teacher, and a strange surrogate mother-type. Look for the small ad in the Reader this week, announcing the passing of the publication's matriarch for the last 30 years, Judith Moore.
M.s., noting my despair, suggested we get out of the house and escape to a theater, where we would allow our emotions to be controlled by Hollywood machinations rather than inner turmoil and unanswerable questions. We saw the third Mission Impossible. It did the trick. Edge-of-your-seat, unrealistic, near-comic book gadgets and perfect scenarios, I gave myself up to it and relished in not having to think of anything else but what was going on on the screen for a couple of hours.
Today I need to get back on track. I need to finish these stories and jump back to these other projects I have set aside, previously unable to handle the overwhelming sensation that the mere idea of tackling them brings. But if not now, when?
I leave you with a few photos of me and my love laughing, enjoying a dinner celebration of one of my most beloved friends, Ollie. Here we are sitting in Antico Toscano:
And because I couldn't decide on crooked or straight, here's the other one:
Until tomorrow, my friends.