In his autobiography, Carrying the Fire, Michael Collins observes that while piloting the command module across the dark side of the moon, he is abruptly cut off from all human contact. He is separated from all humanity - indeed, every living thing - his is the only known life on that side of the moon. The isolation doesn't last very long, but it is something that clearly gave him pause.
I feel you, son.
And here's another wry observation from the dark side of HD:
Having crazy friends can be a comfort when you're dealing with early onset dementia.
One of MW's friends is a real mess. Nothing exceptional; just the typical noise about bad relationships, "hormonal" issues, and prescription drugs. Anyway, talking with this friend always puts MW in a good mood. After hanging up the phone, she will smile and say, "Well, at least I'm not as bad as J.!"
Indeed.
In other news, I've taken my obsession with nostalgia to the next level. Yes, in my continuing efforts to live the past, I've decided to participate in the Lenten season. See, as a child I used to give up candy for 40. And the whole fish on Friday thing too. It was a pain in the ass, but Catholic is as Catholic does, and I spent many a Spring season rolling Cadbury eggs around the table, waiting for Easter.
Not much point in giving up candy now; and there is no way I could get away with changing my diet, so the only thing left for me to even try and recapture those bittersweet memories is to shitcan the booze for a month and change.
And so I have. Today marks the fifth day without a drink. 35 more to go.
It was time to dry out a little, anyway. I was taking the curves with only two wheels on the rails for a while there.
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