Without a sense of recognition for my own face. Understanding little of what I think all day. Random memories snagging bits of my attention at odd intervals… Images of possible futures linger in a nether-consciousness on the outskirts of sense. Glimpses of my own reflection whip me back to here and now because the face I see is not what I expected. That’s not who I think I am. That’s not my face when I’m in my mind. That’s not my hair. This isn’t my body and these aren’t my clothes. Intuition judges me. It wonders about sanity. It speculates about cellular memory pushing images to consciousness from someone else’s life. But most of all, it refuses me any sense of contentment for who I am right now.

I love that strange phenomenon where the mere asking of a question prompts the answer... seemingly from nowhere.

So I used to feel all insignificant when I thought of my life as a fraction of the time that has been. 80-odd years out of hundreds of billions. But now, if I'm gonna buy this universe recycling business, it's 80-odd years out of hundreds of billions in one universe out of an infinite amount of universes. How small is THAT!?! Except.... Can you have a fraction of infinity? Wouldn't a fraction of infinity also be infinite?

I don't think time was created with the universe. Time is. It doesn't just exist because we observe it. That's a tree falling in the forest. If time passes without anyone there to get older, does it still pass? We've given time names based on 3-dimensional, observable phenomena where time is present. Day = Earth rotating on it’s axis 1 full turn. Year = Earth revolving around Sun. So if there's no earth to rotate and no sun to revolve around there's no time? Bull shit. Time would still be, it would just have to be redefined... renamed. Renamed by whom, I don't know...

Why don't we just tell the religious right that homosexuality is evolutions way of birth control.
[hehehe... I think I can feel a little red dot on the back of my head]

Creation and the state of the universe in general: one of my favorite topics, no doubt. So, there are probably dozens of theories out there that suggest how the universe began. The suggestion is usually framed in such a way as to imply that the beginning of the universe is THE beginning. The beginning of all. “Time was created in the Big Bang” ??? Really? That’s an interesting notion (I guess it never occurred to me that time was something that could be created).

I wonder if there’s a theory out there that suggests that there isn’t a beginning. What if the universe exists in an infinite recycling process? [Infinity is such an impossible concept for our little 3-dimensionally oriented brains to grasp. We keep reaching for edges of things. We keep trying to put time and space into a box with a beginning and an end and a logical, linear progression in between.]

The “problem” with the Big Bang Theory is the question of where the initial particles came from that did the Banging? Some say that the inability to answer that question proves that Big Bang is wrong (citing the First Law of Thermodynamics). Others say that God put it there and made it Bang. What if the initial particles of our Big Bang were what was leftover after the previous universe’s “Big Crunch”?

What if I could treat my entire life like a lucid dream? What I want to be would be. What I want to have I would have… because it’s all inside my head. I could fly… breathe under water… turn objects in other people’s hands into something else (much to their surprise). How much fun I would have.

Someone told me that if I were independently wealthy and never had to work another day in my life, I’d be completely bored. Like.hell. The following is a list of things I would do if I had unlimited time and resources: (NOTE: the following list is in no particular order; is by no means comprehensive, and will undoubtedly change dramatically in about an hour and a half)

Travel to various countries and take cooking classes (in between all of the museums and reading books in quaint little cafés, etc.)
Travel in such a way that I could spend enough time in each place to no longer be a tourist
Learn to play guitar
Take classes on various subjects including but not limited to philosophy, physics, auto mechanics and carpentry.
Buy an immense piece of land somewhere in a remote and secluded mountainous place and build a modest little house from scratch… including a barn for horses, a wood and metal shop and a little airplane hanger for my twin prop.
Learn to fly
… Hmm… would need a building for the winery… probably another for the brewery.
Grow grapes and make wine
Grow hops, malt, barley, wheat, etc. and make beer.
Read read read. Write some too
Have kids
Backpack the Colorado Trail
Buy a boat… learn to sail… take a lap around the two continents from Maine to Alaska
Learn Tai Chi, Yoga, Kung Fu and or Karate
Read the Times every morning… at my leisure… with coffee
Camping trips on horseback

It occurs to me that finding out about my sister’s visit to the emergency room via my thrice-weekly visit to her blog must point to a shortcoming of mine, somehow. I hope you’re feeling better, dearest.

I’m drinking Earl Grey Tea. I tell Frank it’s so I can try to pretend I’m in England. He says I need crumpets… Triscuits don’t count. On Friday I was handed a list of ~175 names and asked to track down their phone numbers and then call them to see if they will be participating in our company sponsored golf tournament. This is the second major violation of my Policy of Self-Respect in less than 10 years. For the sake of not sounding like a classist, elitist, snob I’ll refrain from outlining in detail the provisions of the policy. That said, included on the list of things I promised myself I would never do, is work somewhere where my responsibilities include remembering my boss’ anniversary and sending his wife flowers in his name, buying gifts of condolence or congratulations on my boss’ behalf, and making any reservations on my boss’ behalf that are social or recreational in nature. Okay, so this is a company sponsored event and shmoozing is business, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about having to spend 6 ½ hours of my life calling people I don’t know (who should have just replied to the goddamn email last week), and trying to coerce them into participating in a golf tournament … to which I am not even invited. I got a couple dozen responses, left 86 voice-mails and called it a day. Telemarketing is definitely on the list of things I swear I will never do. I may have squeeked through in a gray area on that one.

In other news… Plans on the kitchen are still evolving. Phase V – the Dry-Bar Phase, has just taken on an entirely new look (on paper, of course) and negotiations are under way to include a portable wine cellar (which kind of looks like a glass-front version of the little frig you had in your dorm room in college… only without the imitation, painted-like-no-wood-you’ve-ever-seen, façade). I’m pretty excited to work on that phase, which is part of the reason I saved it for last.

So, it’s almost lunch time and I haven’t even pretended to get any work done today. I have blatantly and openly read the Times and sipped tea for the past 4 hours. I’ve never been fired before. It’s in the Policy, I think. Maybe I should go file something.

The pain is inexplicably muted. I am only vaguely aware of it. I realize, as if being informed from some outside source, exactly how long my jaw has been clinched. Conscious though I am of it, I can’t stop it. It’s only semi-voluntary… like blinking or breathing. I can stop it if I think about it, but the moment I stop trying… … I have all of the photocopier’s noises memorized. I speak Konica. I can tell by the length, volume and tone of it’s buzzing whether it is finished with it’s job, jammed, or in need of paper or toner. I know now that my jaw is set, summoning patience, against the incessant banter of it’s language.

I’ve just returned from almost a week in upstate NY. (My jaw has been on vacation.) A whirlwind of smiles and kisses, of running and waiting, weddings, wineries, family bbq’s, swimming, sailing, drinking, eating, and delighting in the close proximity of people greatly missed. Everywhere I went in New York, I could see myself living there.

On a hazy evening, barely able to make out the horizon of mountains on the far Western shore of the lake, the sun, dressed it his brilliant, red, wedding feast best, was kissing the bride goodnight and making his fabulous exit. I walked through the vineyard for a while, sipping wine, and tried to imagine what it would be like if it were my job to walk through a vineyard and sip wine. When I returned to the tasting room there was an old man sitting on a railing in front of the door, looking up the hill to the east.

Me: good evening.
Him: have you ever seen anything so beautiful in all your life?
Me: [following his unbroken stare]… … no… … I haven’t.
Him: [drawing a deep breath and finally glancing in my direction] are you enjoying your Cabernet?
Me: very much. Actually it’s the Pinot.
Him: are you sure?
Me: pretty sure. Are you the vintner?
Him: Yes. I own this place. Have you tried the Cabernet?
Me: Yes I did. I think I prefer the Pinot… which is odd, I’m usually not a Pinot fan.
Him: come inside, I’ll give you a Cabernet that you’ll like.

The old man took me into the tasting room and called for two bottles to be pulled and opened. They were two different years of his, registered, numbered, Owner’s Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon. He shared them with me as he poured over the history of his vineyard and his winery; the renovation of his house, outbuildings and tasting room, and the evolution of his wines from experimental goofs to international recognition. He was proud; I was enchanted. He was selling; I was sold. My bottle is #326 and should be in it’s prime in 10-15 years. I’ve spent more on wine before… much more. But I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed buying it so much.