...looked like this...
But I didn't post it, simply because I didn't feel like writing.
I don't feel like writing tonight.
The high spot of my day? Meeting two large -- and not totally unfriendly -- raccoons while I was out walking a while ago. They trailed me for half a block or so, never getting too close but not running away, either.
I suppose I should be grateful I'm alone tonight. After all, there are only three places to sit in my miniature pad (if you don't count two spots in the bathroom and the front stoop): my office chair, kitchen chair, and the bed. Not ideal for hospitality.
And I'm mad at myself: some notes I need to complete a couple of articles are either in boxes at the storage unit (where it would take a long time to find them) or got thrown away during the worst parts of the move. They are not here, and I will have to improvise and fake my way through my writing without them. I can do it, but it bugs me.
Why, you may ask, don't I pick up the phone and reach out to friends?
Having been raised to be polite is what you might call a mixed blessing. I don't want to interrupt anyone who is having a good time, or is busy, or whatever. On the other hand, my reticence about intruding makes me invisible to people who might talk to me.
The grim feeling of isolation, of sensing that you don't exist as far as most people are concerned, of thinking you need others more than they need you, is a real downer, Jim.
Be glad you're not here tonight!
4 hours ago