It’s Saturday, as you can probably tell by the title above (which is a loose mishmash of a few songs that contain the word “Saturday” in their titles). I’m keeping up my pattern of writing blog posts in the morning, and I’m sure that WordPress will soon be telling me that I’m on a five-day streak—which is true, of course, but banal. Then again, I commented on that fact already yesterday, so my commenting on it again today is not merely banal but also redundant.
“Who’s the lame one now, Robert? Ha!” – WordPress.
I’m going to work today, and I’m currently waiting at the train station as I write the first draft of this post. If I were not going to work, I probably wouldn’t be writing a post today. For instance, next weekend I’m not supposed to be working, so I probably won’t be writing anything, even if I’m keeping up this habit of writing blog posts “every day”.
If I do write one next Saturday, I’ll probably be pretty grumpy, since it will mean I’ve had to come to the office and work to cover for my coworker. His wife just had their first baby on Thursday, after a worrying situation that led them to go to the hospital early, so he hasn’t been in the office since Monday—which was a useless day for work, anyway, but there was at least a bit of a cookout for the holiday. We’ll see whether having a new baby will count as a reason to switch weekends. I doubt it. Though if there ever was a good reason for such things, that would probably be it.
Goodness knows that, when my children were born, I did not take much time off work. I was in third year of medical residency when my son was born, and then was in my first year of private medical practice when my daughter was born. Trust me, I took very little break time, though I happily did a lot of feeding and diaper changing at home, and since I was better at getting up in the middle of the night than my (ex-)wife, I did a lot of that, and was happy to do so. I loved spending time with my kids—nothing better, not ever. I would still love spending time with them if I could, though they are now 22 and 20 years old. But I haven’t actually seen them, in person, in about ten years, lamentably. That’s not by my choice, though it’s certainly related to mistakes I’ve made.
Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that—or to write about it—too much, because honestly, it makes me want to die right here and now. And no, that’s not a figure of speech. There’s very little point in going on with my life since I can’t see them anymore, but I do it anyway, because that’s what biological organisms like me are shaped to do by natural selection, “long after the thrill of living is gone”. It’s a frustrating and Hellish fact that, even when you don’t have a particular desire or motive or reason or excuse to stay alive, your body, your brain, your inherent mechanism, is saddled with an almost insurmountable drive to continue, long past the time when you’re going to reproduce, just because that drive to stay alive was such a strongly selected-for survival attribute.
I still have no desire to do any fiction writing right now, and I likewise don’t have any urge to play guitar. I’m seriously considering just giving most of my guitars to my former housemate, who is a very good guitarist, and who built two of the guitars I own. They’ll just take up space in the room I’m moving into, and since I’m moving (against my desires), I might as well free up that space. I might even give someone the Strat that I play at the office, but I’m less sure which person would be the best recipient for that.
It’s interesting to note how my calluses on my fingers are slowly waning, which is a noticeable fact for me because it changes the subjective experience of typing. My left fingers always feel comparatively just so slightly numb compared to my right fingers because of the calluses from guitar playing, but eventually I presume that will revert to equality, though it will probably do so asymptotically, and I’m not sure how long it will take to reach rough* equivalence.
Oh, right! Yesterday I finally posted my video of the first act of Macbeth. I’ll embed that here, below, for those of you who want to watch it. It’s reasonably well-performed, I think, but of course the video-making and editing is highly amateur, and the actor is not pretty to look at. Still, maybe that latter fact makes it a more realistic portrayal, especially when I’m doing the three Witches. It was at least fun to “perform”, though doing so and then editing it was a great deal of work, and that wasn’t always fun. I don’t know if I’ll do any more of it, unless there’s a surprising amount of enthusiasm from the viewing public (so to speak).
Now that Independence Day is over, we’re entering a comparative desert of holidays for a while, at least in America. Even Labor Day isn’t until September. That’s not exactly a very big day of celebration, and it seems that fewer and fewer people get the day off work than used to do. I don’t know for sure if that’s ironic or particularly appropriate, but it seems to be the case, though perhaps that’s just my highly biased and filtered perception. The next really good holiday—since the world at large has ridiculously failed to embrace Bilbo and Frodo’s birthday** as a worldwide celebration of peace and joy and the triumph over evil—is Halloween. As someone who already feels as if he’s a poorly-animated corpse, it’s not inappropriate that it’s my favorite holiday.
But it is a looong way off.
Anyway, I think that’s all I’ll write for the day. I’ve skidded past a thousand words, and since I don’t have any pressing reason to go further, I won’t. I hope you all have a good weekend, and that the weather’s nice and warm but not too hot and muggy for you to enjoy yourselves***. If you can get to the beach or an amusement park, or someplace you can get ice cream or popsicles or sno-cones, or what have you—and if you and your loved ones enjoy such things—why not get out there and indulge yourself (and them) just a bit? Believe me, the plants and the ectothermic organisms are taking advantage of the heat; you might as well do so, too.
*No pun intended. Honestly.
**September 22, for those who don’t already know. They were not born in the same year; Frodo was 78 years younger than Bilbo, but they were born on the same day of the year. This is not at all uncommon, by the way; if memory serves, in any group of 23 people (or more), there is a greater than 50% chance that two of them will have the same birthday****, though which date it will be is not specified. If you’re looking for a particular day of the year, the odds are much lower. Look it up—it’s (wrongly) called the “Birthday Paradox”.
***This applies in the northern hemisphere, of course. In the southern hemisphere, it’s technically winter now, but I don’t think it’s probably gotten that cold there yet, outside of, for instance, Antarctica. Perhaps I’m wrong.
****I just checked the math. It’s correct, unless I screwed up in my calculations.