New Year’s Eve Unedited; stream of
consciousness. Always a mistake. 2014 over, down and out. I am uneasy about traveling
to Italy on Saturday. A problem that is also a gift. It’s a long trip with
layovers in Chicago and Zurich and a lot of snow is predicted in both places
and I am, naturally, convinced that we will be delayed, canceled, postponed,
killed, arriving in Florence days late and half-dead. I am too old to sleep on
an airport floor. Of course, I don’t know for sure about any of this, but it
doesn’t look good. Nothing ever looks good, even when it is.
Cons? Delays and fatigue, possible
air disaster, hijacking, lost luggage, turbulence and unhygienic passengers.
Children.
Pros? Well, no matter how
inconvenient and difficult the trip to Florence, eventually we’ll be in Italy
for six weeks. Even if travel takes a few days of misery and suffering, we’ll
still end up in Italy. Lucky me.
I couldn’t log into the United.com
site when checking on my reservations so I called a woman on the motherfucking
moon and in her unfathomable moon accent she tried to help. She could not
figure out how to pronounce or write my last name and that is what my login is
dependent upon. My confirmation number. Check. And my last name. Fail. Moonlady
said she was having no problem at her terminal in the middle of the Sea of
Tranquility so I cut and pasted my name from their site and, magic, it worked. Apparently
the site is font-specific? Shit, I just want to be able to check my
reservations from anywhere in the world where I may end up stranded and abused
while on my way to the homeland. Thanks for nothing, Moonlady.
Hate to admit this but I’m worried
that I’m going to die at any minute. One of the guilty effects of treating my
body as a dumpster until 1994. I’ve become older than I dreamed I’d ever be. I
almost embrace death. That way I won’t have to sweat flying in bad weather and waiting
in bad airports. Man, I don’t know if I’m nuts or normally anxious. Some people
just look at me like I’m stupid when I complain or express my concerns. Mike B
validated me by saying, “Travel is always stressful.” That’s true. Even on
trips that are supposed to be easy, Oakland to San Antonio, Reno to
Albuquerque, I’ve had cancellations and cock-ups so I already know there is no
absolute in travel. Everything is an expectation. Travel, sex, literature,
family, health, dinner, automotive, dental, grocery shopping, electricity,
weather. Everything.
It’s the last day of 2014 and I feel
OK, complete, but I’m still behind in my tasks. There are books to get rid of,
boxes to go through and items to dispose of. Weight loss has been pretty much
abandoned since June. I need cataract operations, a nose job (breathing has
become difficult thanks to my brothers, an errant baseball and years of cocaine
use). I’m afraid I’m going to cease, end, die without finishing several planned
writing projects and my extensive book lists. In fact, I am sure of that. I’m
just afraid it’s going to happen in the next few days. Weeks. Months. I want
another 15 years, but even that scares the shit out of me because it doesn’t
seem very long at all.
Wow. Jesus. That’s my final post of
2014? Sounds kind of negative. I better list some of the better things from last
year:
Reading George Orwell, Henry James,
Virginia Woolf is the greatest pleasure.
My family amuses me.
Relief from belief in deities and
fantasies gives me so much more peace.
I feel content most of the time.
I like my house. I love my wife.
I’m in good enough shape to hike,
stack wood, workout.
There are some pretty good people
out there. Somewhere.
French New Wave cinema is still
cool as hell and inspiring.
Charlie and I have been playing
exotica-lounge-surf music.
My writing is slightly better.
Coffee.
Fountain pens.
Hair.
And the best thing about 2014? My
new ExOfficio underwear.
Arrivederci and good-bye, 2014. And
really, thanks for the underwear.
