-Sigmund Freud
CIVILIZATION AND ITS DISCONTENTS
Twenty-five years ago today:
June 11, 1987
Thursday
It was another “okay” day. There was a fire drill at our building this morning. Everyone had to evacuate. I saw Neil Austin, a former coworker from Pac Bell.
Neil said, “Hey Mike! I talked to Margaret Lai the other day and she said you don’t return her calls.”
“She did?” I asked.
“Yeah, she kept going on and on.”
“I didn’t even know she’d been calling. I know she can be very persistent with a lot of pressure, too.”
Neil laughed, “Yeah, that’s her!”
I did make it to the gym and Scott wasn’t there…yet again. Oh well, I lost my work out buddy—or so it seems. I worked out anyway.
Chris called me and we had a good talk.
Jeff called me and said, “I’m definitely going to stop in San Francisco next Sunday for an hour on my return flight from New York!”
I thought it was pretty ridiculous for me to drive all the way to South San Francisco to see him at the airport for an hour…but we’ll see.
I telephoned mom.
Mom asked, “Do you think you could return a blender for me to PAYLESS?”
“Yes, but it would be better if I could do it on Friday.”
She got on my case a little bit by saying something about how when she needs a favor I can’t do it. However, I didn’t say “no”. She cooled off. I guess she just had to let off some steam (as we all do at times).
I was home from the gym by 9PM and chose to turn in to bed early. I haven’t called Eileen back. She hasn’t called me either. Such is life. Yawn.
“One writes simply as one feels, such a work is like sunlight radiating from a source of infinite brightness, not like a spark from a fluid struck on iron or stone. This alone is true art. And such a writer alone is a true artist.”
–Lu Xun,
A Happy Family
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