Spent a delightful two hours in the park today, mostly. I'm unsure if the police have done a sweep of the U District or Belltown and the junkies and meth-heads migrated up here in larger numbers than usual, if the full moon last night lanced everyone's craziness or if it coincidence, but poor Thomas couldn't quite relax at said park because two meth-heads, apropos of nothing, started screaming racial epithets then yelling, "Bob Dylan is coming! Bob Dylan is coming!"; a man whose schizophrenia, tragically, manifested itself with shouting at a nearby kitten and pretending to masturbate wouldn't stop blaring inanities and a crazy old Greek lady (total coincidence) thought Thomas was adorable and despite my kind but firm rebuttals, wouldn't leave us alone. Interspersed with all of this was a delightful breeze and many kind dog owners who popped over to say, "Hi." Thomas and I drank some water together in the shade and he enjoyed exploring the grass.
So there were pockets of wonderfulness. But in marked contrast to yesterday, when everyone we encountered was friendly and enchanted and, more importantly, not yelling of one's genitals, today's experience was tiring. Came home and we napped together, which turned into full-blown zonking out, which led to awaking at 3:00 a.m. Now we're winding down again for real. But I hope tomorrow's outing presents fewer people whose neurochemistry is betraying them and more happy solitude and/or folks who are normalsauce.
We can dream, can't we?
2 comments:
There is no convincing amount of statistical data that confirms that the full moon makes people wacky, yet ask anyone who works in the ER, and there ya' go.
I know: each prosecutor, E.R. staff member, cop and crisis clinic coordinator I know swears there's a correlation and, in my own experience, I'm inclined to be believe the theory holds merit.
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