Well Shut Mah Mouf...

Insane week. I took Tuesday off because I was sick all last weekend, probably from working in downpours on Friday and gale-force winds and rain the following Monday. Plus my aunt (Dad’s sister) was in town with my uncle and two of my cousins. We went and met them in Rehoboth for lunch. I got tired of them quick. My aunt has the focus and clarity of ten wadded strings of old Christmas lights. She was telling me about my two cousins (both female) living with a guy in their apartment in D.C. At least one of them sleeps with him.

“Three’s Company,” I remarked. “Remember that show?”

She laughed and then said, “Well, society might say they should get married but we’re very liberal, me and Jack. We always thought the best thing to do was to let them find their own way.”

“Mmmm,” I said, tight-lipped. I was thinking society doesn’t want them to get married at all...unless they’re gay. Later on she told me about how much she likes reading C.S. Lewis. Stupid. Four hours in their presence was enough to hold me another couple of years. It also made me miss my father somewhat.

It’s not that they aren’t nice. They are. They just seem confused and I felt sort of sick and hungover and out of sorts talking to them.

Then yesterday, Friday, I had the chance to work in the pouring down rain all day again, and today I woke up, had some coffee, finished a novel I’ve been reading about soldiers on the front lines with the Israeli Defense Forces (Matches, by Alan Kaufman), did some shopping for a motorcycle online, mowed the grass, took a shower, felt nauseous, laid down, took a nap, and woke up with a fever.

This week at men’s meeting I made a guy so angry he ruptured a blood vessel in his eye. Me and some others asked questions about some concerns we’ve had and were (nicely and indirectly) told to shut up.

I’m not sure what do about it. I put so much mental energy and prayer and thought into the thing, and now it seems like it was all in vain. I suppose I’ll go to maybe one more meeting before I stop wasting my time and just go back to using Sunday mornings to write notes and letters in my composition book.

I don’t like being the guy who, with honest words, makes people bust veins in their head. Let them have what they want, I say. Maybe in the future I’ll be more careful about casting pearls before swine.