October 25, 2010 - Breakfast

This morning I ate before weighing myself, which leads to big numbers. Slept little last night. Nervous. Partly work, partly fertility, as the shots begin anew. Partly a story idea that I can't leave alone. Switching to tea in solidarity with my wife, and in the hope of minimizing midday panic attacks. Got not-enough done this weekend; today will be a challenge. Found, randomly, the first website I ever designed. Strange moments then—living in Jersey City, temping here and there, no clear path. I had no idea what to do from hour to hour. There was so much less information available. I went to the library often and wandered through bookstores. If it wasn't for the Internet I'd probably have a regular job. Then again it's hard thinking more than one sentence ahead now. All this random stuff of a piece, myself being the piece.

My wife had a dream about being forced, by circumstances and rules, to eat one of our cats, the dumb soft one that, when it meows, always seems to be asking questions. We got her as a kitten; her name is Gary. In the dream Gary was hung head-down, waving her paw, confused and terrified as [Wife] sent her off to slaughter. [Wife] told me about the dream (she awoke and immediately went to the cat and began to cuddle it) and I can't stop thinking about it, how awful that moment could be: Desperately trying to find a way out of the situation, to remedy it, but you can't communicate love, can't soothe or describe the way forward, or instruct the creature as to an escape. Just pure confusion and terrible consequences.

I can't bear to see [Wife] disappointed. I take it personally. I have to think about it, plan around it; I wouldn't be responsible if I don't. But we're playing a higher-stakes life game, with emotional, and also physical, risks. One of the requirements of this game is that I remain positive. I've decided we'll get good news. And believe accordingly, while holding some tiny percentage--I try to keep it just under one percent--in reserve in case it all goes sideways.

No matter what happens--with this or anything--there is the blessing of language, right? As long as we can talk about it. We can understand what is happening to us; we need never lose the ability to help the other person, if they feel like they are being sent into slaughter, to understand why. That's a blessing of being human, of having words. And one of the fears of having a child, those moments when the child can't understand why you must stick it with needles or keep it from touching an open flame. You simply try to soothe through the suffering, knowing you know better. You just have to believe in your own judgment, and everyone else has to suffer your beliefs.

I had a good idea for a mystery novel--pure genre; they're short, max 80,000 words--called The Dictionary Killers, which combines my loves of lexicography, typography, Nazis, Vaudeville, media, and serial killers. Stayed up thinking of it and woke up with it on my mind.

Weight: 316 lbs