11/10/09 It’s so odd; waking up, having my toast and coffee, listening to WQXR, and feeling as though I have a choice: is this to be a happy day, or a sad day? Will I stare uncomprehendingly at the world as I would at an unpleasant headline, or will the charms of life reveal themselves to me, one after another, like the charms of a newly discovered soulmate? Will I damn my sneezes and aches like they were curses, or feel warmly enough to remember I would miss them if they were gone? It feels like it’s all up to me, staring out the window at the half-dead tree, the network of bare branches above, the patchwork quilt of dull reds and browns on the ground…should I contemplate old happinesses, old warmths, perhaps a newish hope? Or should I let these raw, dull diversions reveal to me the sullen emptiness, the compliant inertia and stagnantly deflating nature of life? I feel my eyebrows move one way, inward, outward, up, down, my lips tremble at the stern and the bow: to smile, to frown, to make light of my hardships, to tease myself into a state of refined, prideful suffering. My limbs might feel like the limbs of great, ancient oaks, or like a poor little sapling torn asunder, roots near dead, leaves green and waterless with illness. But it still feels up to me. To suffer? To transcend? What will get me out of this chair?
It feels like indecision, for to walk about this world with one outlook, one sensibility–happy, sad–would be too easy. I want to know and see all, both, at once. Yet, I just wish I could tell what kind of day it is. I live in it, and it would be nice to know if it’s a good thing. It would be so nice to know if I belonged.