Not Thinking

Hard to make sense. Three inches of slush on the roads at dawn, a heavy wet snow overnight. Passing vehicles spouting rooster tails. D arrives and we go for coffee and scones, then unwrap one of the glass pieces. Stunning, and I'm not a glass person really. Then we remember the ceiling is damaged and that needs addressed before we set the show. D needs to design a mailer for the Modernism Show, so we make a trip to the hardware store for stain blocking primer and ceiling paint so I can get started over my head. Repair, then prime the stained areas, trying to not think about anything else. But thought intrudes. Too many lines of thought. An apartment has come up that I can't quite afford, so I'm running numbers in my head all day, wondering what further sacrifices I could possibly make. So many variables. A math beyond my means. I don't have the calculus, nor the algorithms in which to plug the numbers. In some ways the future works, in others it doesn't. How long will I live, for instance, is an issue, whether or not I use olive oil for frying potatoes. There are some things I could sell, that might grant me some time, and time is actually the issue. You reach an age when you know you are going to die and you just don't want to be a burden on anyone else. But you don't want to die, because living is better than nothing. Nothingness. My goal is to out live my parents. A simple enough parameter. I want to spare them the agony of one of their kids dying before them. The subject apartment has two bedrooms, which I don't need, a guest could sleep on on the couch, but I like the wall-space, because of the books. Provisional. My sister, Brenda, calls when I'm at the pub, and Mom is stable, they've thickened her blood and operated on her ankle, added two screws and a plate, put her in a soft cast, before the hard cast and weeks of rehap. Like I asked that harpist, years ago, could she play "Stairway To Heaven"? and she strummed a few chords. She could. Of course. Why am I not surprised? Everyone knows everything, it's just a matter of degree.