Aug. 9th, 2016

kingtycoon: (Default)

Conversations. Some are easy some are hard. Saturday I'm easy. Things are alright generally and I get over some bad feelings I have had and choose friendship. There's an amount of dancing and an amount of Whiskey. A large amount actually. Things go just right and it's good, there's sexy goodness at the end. Then sunday is lazy & easy until I'm called by my game-design bros to have hangouts - and I go & do - we have hangouts and our conversations are about what we make about math problems and suites of abilities & embedding the system into the setting & on and on. It goes late & good - we talk and talk and the train takes me home & I start putting plans to work - having left things go a bit.

The light train in the dark night is a right kind of scene, a good feeling in every city I've had it in. It's something solemn & peaceful - you can tell. You can tell by the lighted train in the dark city that the world will continue and there will be a continuity & a legacy - that it's stronger than it seems & will arc in the direction of strength over time. I could tell you, with some thought why I think trains and electricity give me this impression but I'm satisfied to leave it be, an unexamined feeling, a strong impression that helps without asking anything.

On Monday I work where there's disarray & a feeling of collapse impending. A sense of probable endings. It doesn't conflict with the long arc of forward momentum though, it feels like things ending, like the Autumn, like the last taste of ice-cream in your mouth melting.

Then I have dinner with my parents - the third of my conversations. It's always hard, and getting harder. My father, he's fading. He's well, strong, except his memory. And what can you do? He wants to work, to make money, to have it. We talk about this and I am into it - I suggest places where panhandling might work out for him and we're strategizing how to do it while my mother glares at me and is desperate for me to stop talking...

But I believe in him in the way I do myself, that you can be okay in the world because people will look and see you and be glad that they did, will think you're worth helping. I think he'd be okay. And maybe he wouldn't. I can't say. Should he leave the house or no? Should he do anything or nothing? There's uncertainty about the rate of his collapse and that's been a curse - My goal is to take these moments for what they are and to enjoy them and try to help him do the same - my expectation is that the worst is yet to come, the winter follows the autumn. So these times are probably the times to take note & to experience as fully as I can.

Then it's the train in the dark to home. Again and again, and it's dark & I'm tired and I think about the things I'd like to do and wish I could do but the days are too short and I'm wasting them on nonsense. Other people's. Then I read a note from the landlord and remember why it is I waste so much of my life.


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