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3.25.2003 Pessimist's Delusion / Dance Festival

I really was going to write about my last week’s adventure of serving as a juror in the King’s County Supreme Court. Like usual, I have it mostly written up, but honestly, it would’ve offered anything but a truly false impression about how I’ve been feeling lately about more urgent matters.

So.

Holy smokes. Like I was saying last week, war with Iraq was imminent. And it really has littered the media. All the channels on television and radio have been on edge with all this stuff—especially the first couple of nights.

Myself, I’m not really sure how much it has affected me until I was chatting with Jose earlier today online via instant messenger. He described how all of this has really has caused him a lot of stress; the war, the threat of terrorism. I wasn’t certain until after our conversation that all of this … all of this … has really had some impact on me also. Over the past couple of years, all of this stress just has really mounted into something that I have sadly learned to tolerate. The insecurity of a downsized economy, terrorist attacks, realities of war, the list continues… And as the days roll forward, it seems as though globally, there are more tensions. Ugly as it is, it’s actually odd to think that I would one day have to tolerate all of this.

It really has turned into a pessimist’s delusion.

It’s a frightening time right now. And actually, I’ve tried to cut down on my caffeine intake over the course of the last week, and honestly, that’s not freakin’ helping either. Well, this is just today and I know that.

And tomorrow, there’s a brand new day waiting … Thanks for letting me share.




Growing up in Brooklyn, I attended P.S. 105 for grade school. Once a year, during late spring, around May – June timeframe, we would have a dance recital where all the classes of each grade would perform. Although they weren’t very complex dances, we practiced them for hours on end during the previous weeks.

It was always bright and sunny with a crystal blue sky on the day of the dance recital. All the parents would come and take their seats around the perimeter of the schoolyard. It would take me a moment or two, but after a while, I’d always be able to pick my parents out of the crowd. I used to see them smiling at me. They were so proud. My mom would smile and my dad would wave to me while trying to take a picture. In my freshly ironed white shirt and clip on tie, glossy-eyed and buck-toothed, I would smile back.

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...One thing is that no matter how old I am, I probably will not like being called sir or mister, for they have always seemed too far out of reach...

  

 
 

 
 

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