My post-Christmas

DIARY

Cut-and-pasted from my Journal for your enjoyment:

This morning mom woke me up. We said goodbye to Craig and Caitlin. They left. I wrote a reply to Abigail but the computer wiped it out, and I went back to bed around 6.
This was a bad move, because I had a bad dream in which [a reputed California director] trashed my work-ethic.
Feeling a little queasy from that episode, I did a quick prep for Mass, wrote back Curt and Abigail, showered, took out the dogs, and scrambled to Mass just 5 minutes late.

Father Osborn had a nasty cold, but still did a fabulous job, talking about the importance of families.
I also sat next to Sister Claudia who is known for her outreach work and efforts at the North End Soup kitchen. Ironically, I met her just after Mass at a gas station in Carriage Town. She was going to run a Bingo event.

The Good Beans was closed, so I went to the Atlas for hours where I studied and wrote.

At four, I drove home in a molten sunset of spiralling snow, golden like the end of Bram Stoker's Dracula. I saw the same by twilight from my window.

* * * * *

[I went to Crawford's that evening.]

We talked to John and Carol.
Then Marcie arrived, so we went to the White Horse.
We talked of many things... but recounted St. Joseph's.

In the darkness, the world is a terrible, fearful place.

* * * * *

Finger prints.
Paper cuts.
I don't flinch.
Punch my gut.

You go home.
You clean up.
Finger prints.
Paper cuts.

* * * * *

What I love in weekends and vacations especially is that time is differentiated. Each day is a new adventure. No blur from Monday to Thursday...

LET MY PEOPLE GO.

And then there was a great tsunami, and a fifth* of Flint was gone.

LET MY PEOPLE GO.

We talked about St. Joe's.
the Flats.
other urban...

Then we went back to Lindsay's and danced to house, and I had a vision of Gothic Funk #3. They tried to teach me [to] dance, but of course, I'm still awful at it.

Sam lent me Undergound.

I said my goodbyes to Lindsay and Marcie and left.

I got home before four.

We don't burn those candles like we used to.

* * * * *

[recalled tonight]

I believe that the last time I wrote here was on the day following the tsunami. I noticed it and kept noticing it, and suddenly I've been engulfed.

I should have noticed sooner. So much sooner...

But I'm in Chicago and snowflakes drift down, childlike, and Kenmore is dusted like a fairy land. In this purple black. My city is beautiful.

I am with Jessica. [not literally at this moment]

The alternative was always asceticism.

It would've been a very beautiful and quiet productive soulful life, but it would have stung with lonneliness.

So I sit and write of days gone by.
1993? 1996? 2000?

Nope. Last week.

Wednesday? No, Monday.

Monday I played hard at my applications, but midmorning the computer crashed.
I somewhat wasted the moment, but that night mom and I saw Meet the Fockers at Showcase West. [I really enjoyed this movie. I have to say... we're so tightly wound, all of us, I'm genuinely coming to believe that a film's great value is its ability to momentarily release us. By this measure, Meet the Fockers supasses The Godfather and Citizen Kane. But not Casablanca. Never Casablanca.]

On Tuesday, I spent several hours at Baker, once again, working on U.WASH.

I stopped at the post-office to mail Claudia and Abigail letter rec. stuff and went home.

That night we visited [the] DeVoes. It was sweet, the cynics and sojourners. Dave talked of the South Pacific, his Navy experience in some depth. We got sidetracked, as always, by literature, religion, philosophy, politics, but Dave's stories was really the high point of that thread.

[Men assigned to literal desert islands, with nothing but palm trees, blasting sun, and rum to keep company. Pros: They learn to do all manner of things whilst drunk. Cons: It ruins them for life.]

Marsha and my mom and I briefly talked of Wedding Things before launching onto WalMart and Good Things That Still Happen In This Country.

I projected cautious optimism.

This is our second McCarthy era, in a way. The worse it gets, the better it will get.

We left early, got home around midnight, I think. The house felt still without Caitlin and Craig.

* * * * *

Wednesday... I went to Crawfords one last time.

Sam and Marcie had left on Monday.

Lindsay and I'd intended to go to Atlas, but got sidetracked in the living room. Over nachos and knitting we talked over I don't remember what. People we know and the emptiness left without them.

Just like when Caitlin adn Craig left. Just like Sarah leaving. Then Sam and Marcie. Then Cody and dad.

I finally left around 12:30, got gas at the former Total by the former School of the Deaf (how do they call this town ugly?) and sped home.

I thought Cody and dad had already left [for Chicago, so Cody could fly to Japan, to see his girlfriend] but they were just out on errands. I finally said goodbye to them too, and was alone until mom got home. I picked her up.

We ordered pizza around 8 and while I went out to pick it up, Jess and Julie [and Grandma Coyne] arrived, to kidnap me down to Ohio.

Jess opened her presents and we put on Pirates of the Caribbean. I was up until 5 working on Washington.

At noon we started out (last goodbyes... goodbye mom).

* this figure was as of my writing this journal entry.
Right now, it's as if Flint was erased.
In several weeks, it will likely be as if Genesee County, MI was erased.