August 1st, 2002

monkey pirate

(no subject)

[8/1/2002 12:39:55 PM | David Krieger]
August and Everything After

If March comes in like a lion, then August has come in like a chicken-pot pie - insanely hot and moist. The weather is oppressive. I should be out running every day, but just walking makes me break out in a sweat. In fact, just sitting around will make me break out in a sweat if I don't have a fan going, at least. I hate this weather.

It's clear to me that my ancestors were carefully bred to thrive in a bog - cool, damp weather with a dim sun makes me happy, whereas this hot oppressive weather makes me cranky and restless. I can't sleep well at night, I'm undermotivated to get out and ride or run - all in all, I'm a grumpy monkey.

On the plus side, I got my car back, and the only thing wrong with it was a dead battery, not a starter after all. Much cheaper to fix, and the service was done promptly just as promised this time. Now that I've fixed the car, something else at home will break itself fairly soon. See, I think there's a fixed amount of entropy hovering around me like a cloud. Mostly it expresses itself in broken things - occaisionally in broken relationships, or bad luck of a more dire sort. Since I've freed up some of the entropy by fixing the car, it's going to come to roost somewhere else. Since I'm not dating, it can't manifest that way - so either I'll get some incredibly bad news, or something will break, or I'll have another brush with death - or something.

I hope it manifests before the 12th, I'd hate to have this entropic Sword of Damocles hanging over my head for my birthday. And speaking of birthdays - the Balconey at the Trocadero is running Lord of the Rings for free on the very night of my birthday. A ready-made birthday party for me, no? So, I invited all my friends. I'll bet two of them show up. What's a fella to do? Well, it's not like it's a Big Deal birthday year. In fact, I'm turning 31, which is probably the Smallest Deal birthday year possible. After 21, there are no major hurdles except for turning 30, and thereafter, a birthday seems less like a celebration, and more like another marker on the grim march towards death.

Last year I said that I would publish a work of fiction, complete a triathlon, and work towards my degree in my 30th year. I've accomplished all but the publishing - and that is something I've made progress towards, anyway. And I've published some non-fiction (and got paid for it) so I can say I got pretty close. While it hasn't exactly been a good year, neither has it been a terrible year. And of course, I reflect on how I joked at 25 that if I was still single when I was 30, I'd track down Laura and marry her.

How things have changed.