2001-08-03 - 23:10 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Dust Devil

Once again today was like an ant pile with the top kicked off. I don't know it is nationwide but Social Security checks come out on the third of the month here. On the first most every place is busy which is to be expected. But it is nothing like the third of the month when my generation of old poops go out and buy, buy, buy. The banks are full, the credit union motor banks are rockin', the aisles of the supermarket are clogged and the lines to the checkstands are long. Big K and Big Wal have people waiting for someone to leave so as to have a place to park.

Our day was busy with errands that had to be done, now. We twirled through town like a twin dust devil, but deviously and quietly. Avoiding crowded spots we played our cards close to the chest and tried to figure out where to go when everyone else was out to lunch

We spent some time visiting with Heather's brother keeping his mind occupied as well as ours. Stopped off to eat dinner while the herd thundered by in all directions homeward or beer joint bound. Then wafted by the breeze, easily, ducking and dodging we made it home. Our self set tasks done, the purchases schlepped up to our apartment and stowed in their proper places.

The after shock was about normal. Heather and I dozed a bit and then nudged each other awake and pressed on into the future.

All except my mined brain, threatening to explode, swirling and throwing off sparks aimlessly with out a goal. Even my fingers weren't talking to the keyboard tonight. I would come up with something and would think who the heck would care about that ? Looked in the paper to try to come up with a sizzling rant, but couldn't see the trees for the Shrub. Human interest ? Nuh uh.

Thinking about last night's trouble trying to get an entry edited to an acceptable level and having no luck at all. I would go in and do my editing but the damn thing would keep repeating the error ridden first draft and didn't respond to the editing. I finally wrote another entry saying as near as I could remember from the intended one -- but I think the first draft if edited would have been better. Then there was a mix up on the html number tags for entries (guess that is what they are called) and I had to go in and erase the detritus.

It is too hot in here with the fan off and too cool with it on. Flittering from one thing to another without any thing concrete coming up, mind like beads without a string rolling every which way, rattling as they go.

It can't be writer's block, because I'm not a writer. Can't be a mid life crisis either because I am far, far past that. It seems as if I am on a smooth incline, twirling like a top spinning downward, words and subjects flying off at random trajectories and speeds. Almost in a blue funk and about to ponder, "Who am I ? Why am I ? Where am I ? What good am I ? I know that 42 is the meaning of life if Douglas Adams can be believed, but where do I fit in ?"

Painted in a corner, no way out but to allow elapsing time rescue me from being a Dust Devil . . . .

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