In life as in stairs

Sunday 2/8/26

How much do you think twelve large red peppers and six large white onions would run you?

The total was $12 yesterday at Haymarket. I went back out to get them in the snow after returning from Trader Joe's to put the bags down. These things are less expensive at Haymarket--even with Trader Joe's good prices--so I'll make another trip. That wasn't even the best deal deal one might get at Haymarket. Sometimes it's even cheaper. There were less dealers yesterday because of the weather.

People want attention more than they want happiness, fulfillment, friends, love, peace, joy, connection, romance, truth, a good relationship with their spouse, a good relationship with their kids, a good relationship with themselves, intelligence, knowledge, wisdom. They'd rather have attention than any of these things, if forced to choose. And it makes them hardly wish to be alive, with nothing to live for, no purpose, no value, nothing to offer anyone or themselves, no reason to be here save that they are and what's the alternative? They can't see this. They couldn't face it if they could. And they certainly aren't strong enough and everything else they'd need to be to begin to do something about it. All problems will be because of someone and something else, when they are also that someone and something else. And attention for what? Exactly.

Ran 3000 stairs at City Hall yesterday, albeit very slowly, as the stairs were covered in snow. This wasn't an impressive workout but I broke a sweat and the stairs were technically done and technically done counts and plays its part in the grand design. Remember that in life as in stairs.

Someone I've known for a long time has a daughter that is going through something right now. Each morning she's dropped off at a treatment center and picked up again at night. I would expect she'll have to repeat the grade she's in, but that's not top of the list of concerns right now. The person I know is a bad person. They've betrayed me. Lied to me thousands of times, and that no exaggeration. It would be tens of thousands of times. They've hurt me. Even hurt my mother.

My life is worse for having known them, and I'll often wish I could go back to the day we met in the 1990s and have gone somewhere else that day. I am alone, though, and you can't be entirely alone in that you know nobody. This person lives in denial. They only make excuses. They're selfish. And in context--in terms of what they know and what they chose to do--they are a worse person than anyone I've ever known.

I am trying to be supportive, which I have to force myself to do. This person beat any affection I might have had for them out of me. They'll never "get it," never change, never grow up. When people offer what they think of as support, it's usually just platitudes. People are simple and stupid. What they really going to say? They have wisdom to share? They don't. But I do. And I don't do platitudes. I offer more, which means choosing to give more. So I do that with this person, but it's hard for me.

Speaking of my mother: She has been mentioning a bunch that she's an old woman now, and it's plain this idea upsets her. My sister said something to her along those lines the other day. I told my mom that my sister didn't mean she was an old woman and that she was instead trying to motivate her, or provoke her, to get out more. Things aren't easy for my mother. She thinks about my late father, my late sister, and, I'm sure, this horrible situation her son is in and the life he has to try endure with all of that injustice and what is the total opposite of what he deserves.

Age isn't about the calendar. Look at these people in publishing. A Wendy "Bag of Hag" Lesser. She was a miserable, nasty, old woman at twenty-five, the same as she is now at seventy-five or whatever she is. Perma-old. A horrid, shriveled bag on the inside, pretty much the entire way through, and then on into death with no reason to the good to have ever been alive.

What age am I? I am of no age. And then it's winter, it's gray out, and it's easy to stay in, so my mom does. She gets out for some stuff. But I'd certainly like it to be more often, and I'm sure my sister does, too.

So I told my mom she really should go to my sister's for the Super Bowl tonight, and then told my sister that she'd be there and would arrive a couple hours early to hang out with Lilah and play with Amelia (I believe Charlie is going to a friend's for the first half of the game) and then cheer on the Patriots. That is, I created the expectation, which sort of put my mom on the hook to go, but hey, you do what you gotta do, right? Amelia, incidentally, is rooting for both teams to win. Co-champions!

The Boston College men's hockey team was routed 6-1 at home on Friday night Vermont, no doubt in part because they were looking past this game to their Beanpot championship contest on Monday against BU. That's the kind of loss that is the reason you don't make the national tournament. Players weren't ready to go, the coach didn't have them ready to go. Tomorrow's game becomes almost a must-win now. A must-win against BU in the Beanpot? Yeah...it's not often I like BC in that game. BC could have to win the Hockey East tournament to get a bid. They really put themselves behind it with that loss to the Catamounts. I heard that the BC football team showed up at the hockey game. Or like a dozen members of the team, anyway. They gave a wave and left. The game was sparsely attended, despite being on a Friday night. School spirit, hooray. Then I watched the men's basketball team lose to Miami at Conte yesterday. I should have gone. It would have been a good day for it, but I hadn't checked the schedule. College basketball on a weekend February afternoon is a nice thing. It wsa a close game at least.

We'll see about the Patriots tonight. If you'd fallen asleep for a year and woke up today and saw the Pats were playing in this game, you'd be shocked. That's the word. Surprised wouldn't cover it.

The other day it was thirty degrees and I had on a T-shit, sweatshirt, and fleece, and shorts, and I just sat by the harbor for seventy-five minutes and thought.

Spent yesterday morning on researches pertaining to the Golden Gate Quartet and Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys for a book.

Today marks 3493 days, or 499 weeks, without a drink.

Need to do some writing now.