Well, the last full day, anyway – tomorrow morning will be fairly brief before I have to leave. This is also the title of a favorite track from William Ackerman’s Conferring with the Moon – a beautifully melancholic string ensemble leading into acoustic guitar; one of the finer examples of why I think Ackerman was, aside from being the founder of Windham Hill, one of their best composers (and one of the most refined exponents of new age, a genre that has a sometimes unfair reputation for universal cheesiness).
I am less sour than yesterday (thank goodness); Susan and Rob cheered me up over dinner last night. Today, however, they have been attending at Neville’s deathbed; I have still not gotten to visit the hospital, though I have repeatedly (and quite sincerely) offered to come along. Chances are he wouldn’t recognize me anyway; but I wouldn’t mind helping with the general process of taking weight off of Chris, of Susan, and so on.
It does, however, still feel a bit as though this week was a rather costly waste: of course it is generally true that a change is as good as a rest, and there have certainly been some amusements (although the only dependable amusement has been Susan, with Rob trailing a bit behind; most other supposed diversions have been mildly diverting at best, and certainly not worth the expense of changing countries to engage in them). That is a frequent problem with vacations – especially in gay locales, especially in resorts – especially for me; I enjoy vacations so much when I’m with other people, and perhaps as long as I live alone, travel will intermittently seem a waste of time.
Which circles around to the same rather obvious solution to most problems in my life: that I should actually get one – a life, that is. It might be a nice thing to have....
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