Friday, October 26, 2007

Two of my intimates have been described in recent days by others as irrational. One of them lives in the house with me and his irrationality took an ugly turn last night when a neighbor, walking on the sidewalk in front of our house, encountered our yapping, snapping, very territorial, little 11 pound Gus.

We heard the man threaten to kick him, then I heard Mike explode like I've never heard him do before. His tirade would have made a sailor blush. The neighbor reminded him of the leash law and said he was calling the sheriff, and Mike told him to go ahead and call whoever the blankety blankety blank he wanted to. Mike, needless to say, had had enough wine to completely lose his grip on any semblance of good judgement and civility. His hostility, which rides close to the surface anyway, was unleashed in torrents.

I stayed out of sight and didn't make a peep until the dogs had come in and Mike had locked and bolted the door. He continued to obsess about the man and the confrontation until he took his sleeping pills. This morning he's still obsessing about it, afraid the neighbor will retaliate. I don't think he will, but stranger things have happened.

I'm terribly concerned about leaving Gus and Jay-Jay here with him for a week while I go to Tampa. Even though Art can walk them in the morning and Jon will walk them in the p.m., and Mike would never allow them to run loose like I do, I'm afraid they're going to be more than he can handle. I've got to come up with a better plan before I leave.

The other "irrational intimate" is making a little more sense than she was 3 or 4 days ago. I'm hoping she's over her mad spell and is once again acting like a smart, level-headed, mature 59 year old woman. We all like her in that role much better than the poor, pitiful victim role she was playing. Even though she's very good at it, it's a generator of very bad karma for all parties concerned, and much better suited to a young person who hasn't lived long enough to gain any wisdom. I should think it beneath her dignity to indulge such a sappy personae, but then I'm not proud of some of the roles I've played in my lifetime, so I'll make allowances.

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

William Shakespeare, "As You Like It"

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