nostalgia

In the morning I take out the trash in the freezing rain. The neighbors dog barks at me from behind a small chain link fence. If I had a way to threaten him, I would. We do not know when the garbage goes out. Some weeks I just leave the cans in the back alley so that they will be taken. This morning I watched them take away the garbage. The dog didn't even bother them.
Trash day is Wednesdays. Dogs and I don't get along.

Sometimes when I'm at work I forget what day it is. I end sentences with prepositions. I misplace commas. I begin reading short stories and then stop reading, right in the middle, because they are so good. Sometimes I lie to myself about why I stop reading short stories.

When it's cold outside I think people have a tendency to walk faster. Yesterday I saw two girls wearing skirts for no earthly reason at all. It's too damn cold to look cute. When the rain is freezing I have tendency to miss CA. I tend to miss things until I have them at hand.

Our mattress is firm and fluffy both. We both slept like rocks but not for eternity. Presumably rocks sleep for eternity. Perhaps I should throw a rock at the neighbor's dog. Perhaps I should always put an apostrophe when I'm dealing with the possessive.

The snow felt for what felt like days. A few squirrels burrowed into the blanket looking for acorns.
"We need a cat," she said.
"We'll feed him squirrels and roaches," I answered.

I can't tell the difference between Tuesday and Wednesday. They seem eerily reminiscent of one another. Sartre said some interesting things that occasionally make you want to quit work.

"Although circumstances may limit individuals (facticity), they cannot force persons as radically free beings to follow one course over another. For this reason, individuals choose in anguish: they know that they must make a choice, and that it will have consequences. For Sartre, to claim that one amongst many conscious possibilities takes undeniable precedence (for instance, "I cannot risk my life, because I must support my family") is to assume the role of an object in the world, merely at the mercy of circumstance—a being-in-itself that is only its own facticity."

"The more we use machines in our daily lives the more we come to resemble them."
"I disagree."
"You can't disagree. That's just the way it is."
"I don't have to like it."

I do not know where they take our trash in the morning. None of the men are smoking cigarettes. This shouldn't strike me as odd, but does. The dog growls from behind the chain link fence. You have nothing to fear but fear itself. I am not afraid of the dog per se. I am afraid of the dog attacking me. I am afraid of dying. Epicurus thought that this fear was at the root of all our unhappiness. Epicurus died. But did he do so unhappily?

The trash truck disappears back down the street. Our green trash can lies on its side, spilling bits of water from its concave roof onto the already muddy ground. It is time to start another day.