Linda and I have enjoyed a couple of weeks of living together in my humble flat near Boston. So far it's going very well, as far as I can tell. Although for all I know, Linda is secretly thinking of a way to back out, which may or may not include hiring an ambitious young man to drop an anvil on my head. From my perspective, a completely understandable reaction to living with me for an extended period of time.
I doubt it, as she seems happy, as well.
The center of our new household, or flathold, is a new, Queen-sized bed that has become the place to be in the evenings. Several cats and a dog rest in harmony on Ein Liebestraum, the name I've given the new bed. It means, "A dream of love" in German. Isn't that nice? Social phobia being what it is, I need a cozy room where I can go and hide from others. If it weren't for Linda, I'd be further isolating myself in the extreme. I'm pretty sure I like the wet mess that is the human race, I just don't want to be around it all that often. Just yesterday I called to see if a prescription was in at my pharmacy and I was frightfully nervous, like I was calling a long-lost friend to whom I owe money. It's a miserable condition that cuts me off from others. Linda is the exception, of course, and it is through her that I have a tethered connection to people and the world. If not for her, I would totally isolate myself with my books and the Internet and Turner Classic Movies. And in a few years I would emerge from a very tidy little flat, a social retard, unable to function at all. I wonder if she knows that she saved me from that fate.
Yesterday I downloaded Tchaikovsky's 5th Symphony, one of my favorite pieces of music, which I hadn't heard it in awhile. I listened as I read Boris and Arkady Strugatsky's Beetle in the Anthill. I had to put the book down and listen, though. Music, music, music. It felt like an insult to the Strugatsky's and Tchaikovsky to try and do both. Apparently, I'm some sort of Russophile.
That's all for now. For the 11 regular readers of this, I'm going to try to post more often. It's just hard when you're spending a good deal of your time trying to talk yourself out of jamming a jelly knife into your temple.