Mind & Body Bundle

It's after one in the morning and, unable to sleep, I'm digesting the events of yesterday. It was a good day, and I don't like to let them pass unrecognized. Linda and I had time to be with each other, we laughed at each other and the world, made dinner and listened to music. She rouses my mind and heart in such a way that compels me to understand something that other people seem to think is obvious, but is not so clear to me. That life can be good.

I've already told Linda that if we ever break up, I'm not going to date again. It's a practical declaration that we've both made. Dating is brutal. An unsavory, undignified process which requires a youthful vigor and, ideally, a job that provides a bit of disposable income. It helps to be naive. It's not a hard decision to make, as these days I'm more of a mind to sit at home and read, or watch an old movie on TCM. Music is good. And carrying a torch for someone is romantic and pathetic in a way that appeals to my sensibilities. It's sort of an emergency plan.

What I have now is infinitely superior, though, and all looks and feels well. Naturally, I obsess over not having enough money, but that's about as common as having a nose. And I have to reign in the self-loathing, at least when I'm with her. Simple.

Yesterday, my doctor looked at the torn skin on my leg (a quarter sized hole) and said, "Oi vey." I agree. As he examined the isosceles triangle-shaped gore, my eyes moved down the white skin of my thigh, to my hairy knee and down to my size 12 foot. I squinted and tried to pretend the wound wasn't there, which was almost possible even in the harsh light of the examining room. Despite that, it's hard to ignore. My skin is so white and the wound is so dark, crimson and black from dried and drying blood. The whitish fat cells within the pink border reveal the real me. Not "me" as an abstract construction of the mind, but as a hunk of meat for which I'm responsible. Insistent nerves will alert my mind if my meat gets into a jam, and one needs a body to live, but the whole arrangement seems odd to me.

My doctor was unable to rid me of the wound. It's too jagged to sew up, so I will apply bandages and wait, probably for months. By that time I may be fond of my colorful little injury.