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Back to Life

Seemed to have been hit with some sort of flu.  Back to work today, back to writing later today.  I seem about 80% back, sometimes woozy and a little dizzy but the fever, sore throat and aches and stiffness all seem gone.

Sick dreams are sick.  Dreamed a sideways human eye was watching me from above me.  Dreamed someone was asking me questions and I would wake up, looking for them.  They were different people, on a chair to my left, where no chair exists.  Didn't know any of the people and don't remember any questions or answers.

The cats enjoyed my illness, hibernating with me for the day.  From what I saw of the day through the windows, it was soulless and gray, offering tepid promises of light rain and thin sunshine.  Good day to be in bed.

Getting back into work has been daunting.  I'd kicked off a series of complicated emails on Friday and Monday, and wouldn't you know it, those issues ran into a customer issue and a geo issue, and splattered all over on Tuesday while I was out.  As soon as I was visible online this morning, people pinged me via chat, what are we going to do about this?  And I was, what's going on?  I hadn't looked at my emails yet.  

Then meetings for two hours.  Oi.  

Writing...can't remember where I left off.  The prose is cold.  Will need to sit and read where I left off and light it up. Thinking of a story last night as I slept, about the rats. A friend said, "There's no need to worry about being compassionate about killing rats."  Sorry, but I do worry.  Once we draw a line about where we can and cannot be compassionate, we've created a flimsy barrier that can be moved at will.  

This is not about karma or transmigration.  It's not about death.  We're all on a course to die.

Pain and suffering is harder on the world than death.  I don't like having other creatures suffer.  I think, as a fiction writer, who works at portraying suffering and pain and cause and effect, I think about it more.  I guess you can say I use a method process for writing about pain.

Perhaps I think too much on this but I see us, meaning civilization and humanity, too willing and eager to accept rationalizations that allow us to expedite pain and suffering, not just on creatures like rats and insects, but domestic and agricultural animals, like chickens, cows and pigs.  We allow ourselves to be bought too cheaply in the name of profits and security, and damn everything, everyone, else.

But I capitulated on the rats after surveying insulation damage and arranged for the rats to be trapped live.  I dislike that process as well.  They will kill them but 'in a more merciful way'.  I agonized over the decision and allowed it but I feel like I've betrayed myself.  

Of course, my agonizing will find its way into my writing.  As I write this, the scene I left off is re-emerging. That character would not have thought twice about killing a rat or having it killed.  It's just a rat invading his comfortable rut in his thinking.  

It's funny in that, this was another first person POV novel.  With initial incidents, I wrote about what happened and who it happened to and it was 'me' it affected.  He wasn't named and didn't have a physical appearance.  But then an old friend's name popped into my head.  He became the character's model.  He's much more pragmatic and simplistic than I am, and a much larger person.  All of these insights dramatically changed his behavior and approach to matters.  

Writing about writing has rekindled my writing memory.  Looking forward to writing like crazy once again.

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Like this - the prose is cold

Hi Michael, sorry to hear you have been ill. I am also ill. Blocked ears (maybe a blessing) and sore throat. What a nightmare. Hope you will be 100 per cent anon. m

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Sorry to hear of your illness ~

Hope it's not a sympathy illness.  I had blocked ears, too, but didn't realize it until they 'popped' last night.  Then it was, like, whoa, why is that television so loud?

Get well soon, my Irish companion.  Cheers, M