Wednesday. December 5, 2001

tortilla soup

general celebrates

"There is no more miserable human being than one in whom nothing is habitual but indecision."

William James, The Principles of Psychology

First, I have to go to the dentist. The assistant starts to aim at some permanent crowns instead of my temps. We straighten that out and they come out smoothly. The crowns have to have some work but they finally get in and are OK and it only takes about an hour.

I stop at Mom and Dad's and check on her computer. Yes, she got the 15MB file downloaded and trashed. Well, it's in the trash folder. What was that guy thinking?

I worked. I lunched with SuRu at Upper Crust in our neighborhood. She'd left her dog in and wanted to let her out. She drove me to Lamme's and I bought my mom some candy to give for presents.

I am supposed to have a staff meeting. It's cancelled but I talk to my boss on the phone.

Went home through the traffic and then FFP and I headed out to Casa de Colores. Our friend Anne was serving tortilla soup to a few friends. She has decorated the Casa for Christmas. The tree had chili pepper ornaments and Mexican ornaments and there were decorations everything. Even the Xi'an general was getting into it. Maybe. He looks puzzled.

We go home at a reasonable hour. I've only had one beer. Nevertheless I didn't accomplish anything when we got home save puzzling over the crossword. I didn't sleep enough last night.

I've been thinking about the journal a lot as the countdown occurs. (What countdown you say? The countdown to having posted an entry for every day of the year. Of course, I did quite a few entries before that but with gaps. This would be a big deal in the 'journaling community' maybe. Here, of course, it's mostly between you and me, with few yous.)

Anyway, as I was saying. Doing something every day that involves a somewhat creative effort and well as a kind of routine has been a good experience. Perhaps I haven't created anything that is a work of art. (Although, that's questionable, too, given my definition of art.) But I have created something and the diurnal activity has been cathartic. Of course, there is also the ability to go back and read what one did, where one went and who one met. As I age, this is a great benefit of the journal.

Of course, reaching this anniversary also causes the usual question. Should I keep doing this? Should I reformat it? Rename it? Whatever.

JUST TYPING
The simplest thing.
Done over and over.
Becomes enormous.