Kind of a strange day . . .

Baby's sick, for only the second time since we took her out of day care six months ago. (At day care, both kids seemed to pick up every bug going around town and had perpetually drippy noses.) Lily's got the stuffy nose thing, along with a slight fever, which conspire to make her a very unhappy little oompa-loompa. Fussy and clingy, she only wants to be held. I am typing this with one hand.

Slacked off writing this morning, to watch CNN.com's "real-time" replay of 9/11/01. Unlike most human beings on the planet, I hadn't seen much of this before. I didn't have cable TV back then, so the horrific images weren't hammered repeatedly into my brain. I think, on retrospect, that this was a good thing. From that day, I do remember that Lea was in the midst of the one of her very convincing false pregnancies, so it was like the ultimate good news/ bad news scenario. I might soon be a Dad, but on the other hand World War freakin' III is breaking out.

Given the filter of time, without the "what the hell is happening? are we all gonna die?!?" factor, the footage is still pretty intense. Seeing it on TV (or computer screen,) though, for me reduces the human tragedy to the level of a great disaster movie. The thrill and beauty of pure chaos. The shameful charge of bad news which keeps getting worse. I had cable when Katrina hit, and I had the same feeling then. What is so attractive about disaster? When I was a kid, I used to pray that a tornado would hit so I could experience this feeling first-hand. Am I some kind of sicko, or just honestly expressing an unattractive aspect of human nature?

These thoughts precluded the writing of radio comedy.

The family went down to Prescott this weekend, so I was afforded a rare opportunity to sit down with Drew and go over material for the Coyote Radio Day of the Dead show. Very productive meeting. I came away with lots of great ideas and energy, which I squandered by watching 5-year-old news on the internet. Oh, well. Back to the grind tomorrow.

In other news, I received an interesting e-mail from my Canadian porno connection: "I think there has been a little confusion... The novel 'The Education ofLisa' has already been published by us. I will be sending out your paymentas well as your complimentary copy as soon as I can:)

This means that they published the version on the Literotica web-site, and all my months of editing were for naught. I guess it doesn't matter. At least the check's in the mail. I am now officially a published author. Woo-hoo. Break out the champagne.

White Moth

A white moth, huge, wings stained with eyes and lines, rests in the corner where the windshield meets the roof. How the hell did it get in the car? How the hell did the car come to stand on end like this? I lie back in the comfortable seat, looking straight up at the black sky, pondering these questions. So sleepy. Christ. I oughtta pull over. Close my eyes for a few minutes. Float backwards for a while.

I snap awake. The moth. It's a big fucker. Never seen one so big. A foot across from one wing tip to the other. Big as a bird. How did it get the car? It's like a dream where you don't remember the thing that just happened, but you do recall the thing which happened just before. We were at a party, Ginny and me. So lit up we actually danced. It was nice. We haven't danced in years. Her smile whispered promises of the tastes we would share at home. On the long drive home, though, she crawled into the backseat and fell asleep. So forget about that. Still, it was nice to dance.

I feel sick. It's not my fault. I'm just not used to this much drink. They just kept pressing them into my hand. I turn my head and vomit blood and glass into the water.

The moth moves; an agitated flutter. Its wings hum. I wonder if Ginny sees it, if she's awake. The rear-view mirror shows her face. She is pale and white in the bright glare of the dome light. Her eyes are open. Ginny smiles at me through the shimmery curtain which has been drawn between the front seat and the back. Her hair floats about her head, bouyant upon a gentle wind. Seems strange that I can see her so clearly. Strange that she looks so white.

She blows me a kiss and a bubble rolls from her lips. Water tickles the back of my ears. The moth flaps its wings, stirring the air before my face. It floats in space turned topsy-turvy.

I read once that moths seek lights and flames because they navigate by the moon. The moth eclipses the dome light. The car is darkened. The moth disappears but the darkness remains. I can't see Ginny anymore. The water in my eyelids is too cold to be tears.

I'm angry for a moment, and seek someone to blame, but this too soon dies. An old song plays on the radio, or maybe it's Ginny singing in the back seat. It is the song we had danced to, or maybe it's not. I can't remember. I try to laugh, but something blocks my throat.

The car dives backwards into the darkness of the lake. I open my mouth and a glorious moth flies from my lips, seeking the moon.