The Blue Afternoon.

I am sitting here with a cup of coffee and my cigarettes and have just read the blogs I was behind on reading. I left comments on some and on others I didn't. I don't always know what to say. Sometimes I even think it's inappropriate to make a remark. I feel that anything I would say would be the wrong thing, because I may have missed the point of the post. I'm not all that smart all the time. I don't always understand people's most pertinent emotions, just as I'm probably not always understood myself. It's so easy to dismiss things or to trivialize them or to ignore them as not being important enough.

The simple things are always the easiest. The quick to grasp ideas that some people are very good at presenting. Things that don't need long explanations in six paragraphs or more, which is the way I write. Some people don't make long stories, but keep it short and to the point. You almost think it's a shame that they do, because you want more of them, but they said what they had to say and that's it. I like it when people ramble on a bit, because that is my own style, and some people are so pleasant to read. You want to know more. You want information. Trivial bits of knowledge.

The Exfactor was here earlier. He arrived just as my psychiatrist called, like I had asked the secretary for him to do. I took the call in the bedroom for privacy reasons, but of course the Exfactor knew something was up. I don't know if he overheard me speaking to my psychiatrist or what. The Exfactor asked me right away, when I was done, if I was not doing well and I had to answer him honestly and say that no, I wasn't. We talked about that for a bit and about what the reason was and he understood it quickly enough. He said that people shouldn't expect me to run when I'm doing a fine job walking and to be proud of the fact that I walk so well. I can only agree with him. I can run in the future when walking has become the most normal and natural thing and I've stopped falling down.

Sitting and being alone by myself has become a chore now. I no longer enjoy the silence and the solitude and try to avoid them at all cost. I try to keep myself busy, but am hard pressed for ways to do it. In a little while, I'm going to do some jobs. Really things that the domestic help should do, but I need to do some things myself. I'm even thinking about ironing, that's how bad things have gotten. It's not a frivolous chore I take on. I'm also going to change the sheets on my bed again. For luxury reasons.

I feel like listening to music and I think that I will go to Deezer and put together a play list or listen to the latest hits there. This is in an attempt to keep my mind occupied and to not dwell on other unnecessary things. The possible subjects that pop up into my head now are very negatively loaded and I'd rather not be confronted with them. They are a waste of time to think about, but I'm almost compelled to. It's a neurosis. I'm like Woody Allen in one of his movies, but maybe he's like that in real life too.

My high tops were just delivered and I will have to try them on in a while and see how comfortable they are. I'm looking forward to wearing them. I've been wearing sandals, but I don't like them very much, because little pieces of dirt and twigs get stuck between my feet and the soles of them. That's the drawback of open shoes. Sandals are funny kind of shoes anyway the way they expose your naked toes.

I can now walk Tyke and maybe that's a good idea for me to go and do. We can go for a longer walk and enjoy the dry weather. It hasn't rained all day, although it is overcast. I don't have to stay home and wait for that package anymore. I'm sure that Tyke will enjoy the exercise and it will be good for me to get out of the apartment. I mustn't turn in to a hermit.

Right, off I go into the wild blue yonder.

Ciao,
Nora