From my diary.
It was hot yesterday, almost a hundred. But that's the norm for this area this time of year. I don't mind it much. We have air conditioning when we need it, but we mostly use just the fans. Fortunately, the air is usually pretty dry. That makes the heat easier to live with, even if my wife disagrees. My wife hails from a much balmier clime, and she despises the crackling dry heat of places like Las Vegas. Fortunately, we don't live in Vegas. I used to think that high humidity makes us sweat more and low humidity makes us sweat less. But what I learned recently is that we sweat pretty much as much no matter what the humidity. But when the humidity is higher, the air is so moist already that it can't draw as much sweat from our skin as it can when it's drier. So the sweat just stays on the skin and makes us feel uncomfortable instead of evaporating and making us feel better.
I say I learned this "recently." Actually, I learned it a long time ago. But then I forgot it. I forget a lot of things. Most of us do, I suppose. But I think I forget more than most. This can be very discouraging. I have a stockpile of books I've never read because, even though I want to learn what's in them, I'm convinced that if I read them, I'll forget what's in them, and the time I spent reading them will have been wasted.
Yesterday, my heart continued to bother me. Perhaps not quite as bad as the previous couple of days, but it still wasn't fun. I have Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome. It's a heart condition I was diagnosed with in my late teens. It sounds worse than it usually is, and very few people die from it. I take medication for it that keeps it very well controlled most of the time. But the last few days I've been having palpitations that have me a little on edge. I've gone through this before and things always returned to normal on their own. But I'm getting older, and I may not be as resilient as I used to be. But I still hate going to doctors and will probably ride this out unless I decide that I just can't, or my body decides for me. Actually, it's much better today. I've had very few palpitations. I hope it continues that way. Wouldn't you know it? Just after I wrote that, I began having more palpitations.
Yesterday, my wife and I went to the local humane society to look at cats. We already have one cat, but why settle for only one when we can have two? We saw a beautiful boy cat who looked a bit like the cat we have already, and I was really tempted to take him. But then I read on his papers that his owner gave him up because of "inappropriate urination." Now that is something my wife and I just don't need. Our own cat has been known to manifest this problem too, although he's been pretty good lately, and I don't want to deal with it in another cat or have it draw the same problem out of dormancy in my cat. Still, I felt sad when I walked away from that cat, because he's slated to be put down anytime, and I'm quite certain that this will be his fate, since nobody who reads what I read and understands it is likely to adopt a cat that pisses on the rug or furniture. This cat is only a year old and appears alert and intelligent and sweet. The more I write about him and think about him, the sadder I feel. I also think about all the kittens I saw there yesterday who will probably die before they've even begun to live. At least I hope they die painlessly and fearlessly. If they do, they might be better off than the ones who live. At least that's what I try to tell myself to assuage my sadness and guilt over not taking them all home with me.
We watched a little of the replay of the World Cup match between Italy and the USA. The final score was 1-1, which, I suppose, was something of a minor triumph for the USA team. I don't care for soccer. But my wife grew up with it, and love means trying to share interests with the person one loves.
Last night, we watched "Cops." I probably shouldn't, but I really like watching that show. I like watching all kinds of cops deal with all kinds of people in all kinds of circumstances and feeling that no matter how bad I may think I have it sometimes, I'm infinitely better off than some of the poor souls I see on that show. But then I feel sad that some people are so hopelessly lacking in intelligence and wisdom that they could live essentially like subhuman animals bent on virtually nothing more than drinking, taking drugs, fucking, and committing crime. Wouldn't they and the whole world be better off if they just crawled into a hole somewhere and died? But is that how I really want to think?
10 Friday AM Reads - My not too bad a crash anniversary morning train reads: • Jim Grant’s Botched Bridgewater Takedown: The anatomy of publishing disaster, investment-style....
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