Saturday, January 31, 2015

Vaya Con Dios, Enero

Estoy enfermo.

I am sick.  Something in my throat, making me cough, which hurts, and somehow making me light-headed and achy.  Stumbling from room to room in the house by myself (the girls are wife-driven to basketball games, playdates, errands, etc.) as if pounded flat on the head with one of them circus-bell mallets.  Trying to read, trying to lay and watch teevee, but nothing is satisfying.  Hungry, but when I eat I feel icky.  Ick.

I’m kinda glad January is over.  Definitely my least-favorite month: it’s cold, it’s long, there’s snow, there’s cabin fever if yer stuck inside, wind-chill factors if you have to go out to travel.  Work always panics this time of year so there’s the justify-your-job aspect of capitalism I’ve grown to hate.  It’s a blah month.

But it’s not all bad here at Chez Hopper.  The wife is bringing in the dough and receiving major career satisfaction props with her new position at her new company.  Patch is rocking the b-ball court.  Little One, it seems, is too, now that we’ve got her in the proper league with the proper coaching.  Me, I put the brakes on my reading and as a result, my literary life is much more fulfilling, so far.

A couple of book reviews and two weird philosophic observations I read recently (one on Spinoza, one on Heidegger) that I am at a loss to put into words but feel I must.  The philosophic observations, that is.  The book review’ll be here in a few days.  Other than that, not much on deck as I’m kind of in a limbo-of-sorts as to what I want to do next.  This is a much more pressing limbo as the generic, life-wide-and-life-long limbo I’ve been in.  When these sorts of things happen (1992, 1997, 2005), I find that things happen to me once I take that first step.  Ever happen to you?  Well, just gotta figure out what that first step is.  Specifically, that is.

So – go with God, January of 2015.  You were good in that you were fast, and because you were fast, the better parts of the year are closer round the corner.

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