This morning I woke up and “LET ME BE YOUR STAR” from the late, lamented “SMASH” was playing in my head. I have no idea.
It was 5:30 a.m. Rudy, the crazy beagle who is a guest here (as am I) woke me and the resident doggies, Judah and Sophie. We went outside. I was afraid not to because Rudy – after two days of depositing rather odorous gifts in the house each time I left for the gym – had behaved yesterday but never gone. So, out we went. He didn’t. No worries, long around 9 a.m. on our fourth adventure in the rain, he finally did.
You’d think then, you know, I wouldn’t have expected to find a gift from Rudy when I got back from the gym. But, there it was. Oh, Rudy. Rudy.
In any event, as I was cleaning it up I realized I wasn’t crying. I cry pretty easily. In fact, nearly everything makes me cry. So, uhm, I thought about this, and I realized I have not cried for something like three weeks. I quit smoking a month ago and I seem to have been moved into a depression, and now, what? I’m so dead I’m not even crying?
I mean, I cannot TELL YOU the last time I went this long without crying. Me. Not crying. I have been considering suicide, but, apparently, I am already dead.
And didn’t even notice.