I was looking at some of the 'Nut campaigns I haven't touched yet this week, but I can't muster up any enthusiasm for writing another six dozen ads, five and a half dozen of which will fail because the websites don't have the content necessary to support the advertising.

I've been worrying about the panic attacks (arguably an improvement over having panic attacks) and reminding myself to call the doctor's office when they open, to schedule my physical. I also need to call HairMan in a couple of hours and get an appointment to get my roots touched up.

I'm making a lot of ommm and telling myself I don't care. I'm over it. I'll do whatever they tell me they want me to do, regardless of my personal feeling about how stupid it is. Caring just isn't worth it. (In the matter of intellect, the difference between an Argonut and the Indian that stands in front of the cigar shop is not spacious.* So, why fight it?)

From whence, you might ask, comes this apathy? Well, it's not apathy. It's--well, I guess it's self-interest. Having found out yesterday evening that someone I know passed away this weekend after a sudden, massive heart attack, I've decided that life is for living, not for beating yourself up over other people's ignorance.* *

Also, I'm kind of down. I didn't see Stuart often or talk with him frequently, but he was, inexplicably, one of the people who mattered. Warm, generous, funny, snarky--he had all the best qualities. The world is less sparkly without him.

I'm going to focus on the fun in life for a while. Because that's the kind of thing he would have approved of.

__________________

* Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offences (M. Twain) - paraphrase

* * Like second-hand smoke, I suspect that second-hand stress can kill you.