Taking arms against a sea of troubles ...

So, the post-election camping trip was enlightening as well as therapeutic. We had a "no politics" rule. The others talked about work, their volunteer lives, and school. Apparently, everything I do is political. I had very little to talk about.

Still not reading the newspapers, although I am scanning the headlines.

Instead, I'm reading the horoscopes, the comics, and fashion magazines. Uranus is in opposition to Saturn, so hidden tensions in my world are being released from now until mid-June. Garfield still loves lasagna. Winter coats should either be waist-length or cover the entire length of your skirt, but never fall mid-dress. There are people under 40 who will bid $800 at a fundraiser for lunch with the Mayor, and $500 for a flan at a gala/auction.

Who knew any of these things??????? This is the world I've been immersing myself in since November 3, having remained heretofore blissfully ignorant of its existence. ("There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy . . .")

Bought Franco Sarto shoes, then returned them. Threw a fun spa party. Attended three fundraisers, a discussion group, and a housewarming party, and have come to the conclusion that every intelligent, fun-loving, and politically-aware straight guy in Seattle is married, engaged, or otherwise unavailable. (As I have discovered in the past 8 months, the same is refreshingly not true for London, San Francisco, or DC. Perhaps I should take a cue from Hamlet. The nunnery, or Toys in Babeland? In the end it's the same, really. Still a lonely night.)

The third anniversary of the day Dad died is this Thanksgiving. Grandpa is in the hospital after falling down the basement stairs. It's the first Thanksgiving without Grandma. Lovely. It's no wonder I'm reading only the headlines.

Outrageous fortune, indeed.

Looking forward to the weekend in Portland for the official start of the commercial holiday season. Here's a fabulous quote from one of those forwards a friend sent:

"Life should NOT be a journey to the grave

with the intention of arriving safely

in an attractive and well preserved body,

but rather to skid in sideways,

chocolate in one hand,

martini in the other,

body thoroughly used up,
totally worn out and screaming

'WOO HOO... what a ride!' "

I'll drink to that, in answer to Hamlet's question.

Ah, therapy ...

"In the streets and in society
I am almost invariablycheap and dissipated, my life is unspeakably mean.

No amount of gold or respectability would in the least redeem it
-- dining with the Governor or a member of Congress!!

But alone in the distant woods or fields,
in unpretending sprout-lands or pastures tracked by rabbits,
even in a bleak and, to most, cheerless day, like this, when a villager would be thinking of his inn, I come to myself, I once more feel myself grandly related,
and that cold and solitude are friends of mine.

I suppose that this value, in my case, is equivalent to what others get
by churchgoing and prayer.
I come home to my solitary woodland walk as the homesick go home.
I thus dispose of the superfluous and see things as they are, grand and beautiful.

I have told many that I walk every day about half the daylight,
but I think they do not believe it.

I wish to get the Concord, the Massachusetts, the America,
out of my head and be sane a part of every day."

-- Thoreau

After the deluge ...

"The weariness will pass. It must. And the faith will return. I hope. But for now, I mourn."

Actually, what I did instead was go shopping. Coincidentally, Nordstrom's Half-Yearly Sale for Women and Children started on 3 Nov 2004.

Because on top of the election results, yesterday I also got a text message that a certain someone is getting married and then shipped out, making him the fourth guy I know in Iraq.

For the first time in my life, I didn't watch the news or read a newspaper or magazine. I bought PJs for the long 4-year hibernation, had a fabulous pomegranate margarita after being approved for a Nordstrom card (which I've avoided for several years), and almost purchased every possible brainless fashion mag at Barnes & Noble.

Anything to stay numb. Anything to not think.

Ah, Prufrock:

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

Give me one week to completely sell out and be in denial, and then I'll get back down to business.

It started four years ago, driving down to DC for a massive Inauguration Day protest, and it hasn't ended.

It also means I won't have a life for the next four years. . . .