The phone call that came at 5:45AM usually means there is a car that has arrived. They're calling to confirm that its a car we've ordered. But this car isn’t for me. All I need to do is see my step son and his girlfriend off. They’ve missed the call, in fact. They were in the shower. We get the guy admitted in. I find some shoes I can slip on and get their not insignificant amount of luggage loaded into the little Beijing cab and send them off and on their way to Beijing South Station for their train to Shanghai. Wave them off and close the door, ever so glad it isn’t me speeding off at this hour.
I keep expecting to find something when I look to the papers. I want to find, I suspect, that if we haven’t come upon definitive moment of reckoning for our president, or that at least we have a new outrage or two to chew upon. This is certainly a rather unhealthy relationship with the printed media and the powers that be. I need to consciously push myself to source other news that doesn’t concern him. That used to be all I’d ever read. Reading about outrage isn't accomplishing much.
I conducted another interview this morning on behalf of my alma mater and it went well. Unsolicited but I always feel obliged to tell these young people considering my university that it really was the most magnificent time I can recall, certainly the first year at least, before you had your heart broken and slogged along through those interminable blues. The first year though was an innocent, indelible, time-lapsed evolution of marvel that I recall so well, even today and certainly if the topic of the place is one I'm supposed to channel something substantive about that's where my mind trains itself.
It almost didn’t happen but I made it to the gym late this afternoon, far later in the day than I usually do. I looked around and found my wife had already gone off to her office. I called her at 4:30PM but she had no plan to return. A cab to the gym? Nah. I resigned myself for a moment to simply not going. Quitting is so much easier at the end of the day. But then my daughter asked for a ride to a nearby mall to see a friend. Now we were beginning to build a movement and sure enough the invocation of my daughter’s needs allowed me to tack mine on the end and soon I was walking across the high school parking lot in my shorts and hoodie.
On the way back out into the dark of night, I needed to walk in this silly attire toward the main road. “Come pick me up.” At first I was told to walk home. But I painted the picture of my cold bare legs and before too much longer I had managed to talk her into coming out to meet me there at the gate, while they locked up the school up behind me.