Merry Christmas!

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Fun times in Bend with the family, Wallace and Davis, and the Hayne’s sisters. I’ve been sickly the past couple of days so I haven’t done much but eat a lot and fall asleep on the couch with the dogs, which I suspect I might have done anyway. But because of my cold the last couple of days have pasted in a odd Christmas daze–I feel happy and grateful, but also flushed and confused somehow. I keep thinking there’s something I should be doing, or some job left undone, but I can’t remember what it is I need to do.

Ha, I pretty much always feel that way though.  

Luckily I’m feeling better today. It’s like I’m finally getting my consciousness back. I can think more clearly, read my book without falling asleep, and practice my critical thinking and comprehension skills without feeling too muddled. Now I plan to dive into my normal holiday routine of marathon-reading and overly-reflective bouts of writing.

I will also be walking dogs, riding bikes, laughing and giggling over tables, and finding more Sunriver adventures to get into. We already went on a great hike. I’d like to go into Bend later. Apparently, there’s a new independent bookstore in the village that’s supposed to be wonderful. If it would only snow I could go test out my new snow shoes. 

After finishing Girl in Landscape (it was not very good), I’ve started reading Paul Auster’s Moon Palace and so far it’s delightful. I like this description of one of the characters.

Victor knew that he lacked ambition, but he also knew that there were other things in the world besides music. So many things, in fact, that he was often overwhelmed by them. Being the sort of person who always dreams of doing something else while occupied, he could not sit down to practice a piece without pausing to work out a chess problem in his head, could not play chess without thinking about the failures of the Chicago Cubs, could not go to the ballpark without considering some minor character in Shakespeare, and then, when he finally got home, could not sit down with his book for more than twenty minutes without feeling the urge to play his clarinet. Wherever he was, then, and wherever he went, he left behind a cluttered trail of bad chess moves, of unfishined box scores, and half-read books.

It’s how I feel sometimes. But then, I think it’s how a lot of us feel. There’s that lyric from a country song, I can’t remember which one, that goes, “You’ve got to stand for something, or you’ll fall for anything.” And I always fear that I’m one of those people that falls for anything, and that falls in love with anything. Or that just can’t really fall too hard or too deep into anything because I get distracted by all the other anythings out there and pull myself back and go tripping and falling and stumbling into anything and everything. I dunno, I’m being silly, and having fun with words instead of trying to make sense. (Hmm… maybe my fever isn’t quite gone.)

But it is overwhelming. (And by it I, of course, mean life.) There is simply too much at times. It’s like my favorite Kerouac quote…

I like too many things and get all confused and hung up running from one falling star to another until I drop. This is the night. What it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody but my own confusion.

I should try and grow up and stop loving Kerouac like I do but I can’t help it. 

Anyways, there’s one overly-reflective bout of writing out of the way. :)-

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