Extremely cold--hard to take---especially after yesterday's afternoon "future spring"---around 45 or so. Another gigantic snow storm promised for tomorrow---which means a lot of time spent in the apartment---just myself, the computer, with all it offers, and my books. Should be satisfied---but---oh yes, possibly another session with my new threrapist from Lenox Hill---she is interning---probably late twenties or early thirties---she probably knows half the people that I do. But she is very straightforward and asks good questions---I look forward to seeing her and our interaction. Friday, all things being equal, is my "dry run" for my radiation treatment that begins on Monday. Iur am a little apprehensive but think I can do it.NotNot used to this kind of setting or problems, but so far, the staff that I have met have been very supportive, in fact, that is one of the nice things about my "illness"---the staffs of the three doctors whom I am working with have been warm and focused. The interaction---expecially at this time---is meaningful.
Reading, reading, reading---why is that so difficult for me at this time, when it is one of my only options in this closed environment. Is it because I find the books that I am reading at this time, only "passable" not completely stimulating. I want to be "blown away" by a book---Daniel Mendelsohn's non fiction book about his relationship with his father and the Odyssey, and Le Carre's spy mystery are good in themselves but don't really make me want to absorb myself in them. Of course, the bookcase is lined with other books as well that i have not read---what about all those Auchincloss short stories---I really like his writing---or finishing up Wouk's Marjorie Morningstar---the book which I took to the hospital when I was getting the first operation. It has been sitting on the "book" side of my bed for a long time. Shoudn't I give it a shot. Maybe I will take one more trip to the second hand bookstore on Broadway near 81st street and see what is in their one dollar bin. I have found some interesting books there before---maybe another chance. Or might just work with what I have here.
Surprisingly, one of the books in the one dollar bin that no one has bought yet is the novel Fear of Flying, but Erica Jong. It came out in 1974, and everyone wanted to read it. I remember it fondly---the central character us Isadora Wing, unhappily married to a controlling man, dreaming of sexual encounters with other men; looking at sex as a means of fulfillment...? Liberation...? It is very sharply observed and at the time, just after my separation from my (now) ex wife, almost seemed like an anthem for every single or divorced woman---attached or otherwise_--whom one met with at that time. And yet there it sits, in the bin---looking kind of lonely. Time changes a lot.
Have to move on---looking forward to tonight's NBA schedule and possibly three bets on teams to win or cover. Is that good...? Well it is dynamic---keeps me involved---focused--and I am careful about how much money I wager. That and my u tube browsing---well, should keep me busy for a while.
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