We’re living in an anomalous, dark situation. As complex as life is, there is really only one thing to learn about, to talk about, to act upon. Indeed, it is so omnipresent, there is no reason why I should elaborate upon it. We all know what it is.
It is so much the only thing to talk about, we don’t even talk about it anymore. It just sits there in a lumpen mass, growing daily weirder and marginally scarier — because it keeps going on long past whatever deadline we’d emotionally set for its conclusion.
I feel strongly as if we’re living under occupation by an enemy who is irrational, stupid and alien to our country.
And the weather seems to be reacting to the singularity of that one thing. For days and weeks we in the New York area have been scurrying around under what feels like a permanent large gray cloud, a sort of reverse umbrella, with holes through which occasional rays of sun shine down upon our heads.
And now I’m thinking about one of the few profound movies I’ve ever seen, the bizarrely funny, infuriating, compassionate, wildly imaginative science fiction film District 9.
The dark umbrella covering our skies, though, is not benign. Shreddible, sure, but tearing it up will take more time than a lot of my fellow resisters seem to have patience for.
A dear friend and I went to lunch today to a new restaurant (we gather every month to test out new restaurants). I ordered coffee and received an apology. “All we have,” said a young woman, “is espresso and Americano.” That was O.K. with me. I was handed a coffee cup. The coffee in the cup was black. “Could I have some milk?” I asked. Well, no. The restaurant didn’t have any milk. A search was made into a refrigerator but no. No milk. “We just don’t keep it around,” I was told.
I’m utterly bewildered.