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My day was not my best. I avoid using a blog (you are here) for purposes of venting, since I read too much about other people’s bad meals, fitful sleeping, headaches and the always handy, “I feel siiiicccck,” often repeated on site after site, so I’ve always taken a pass on sharing things of that sort and tried, instead, to step back and not write at all when things are wan, tense, unresolved, questionable, especially, impendingly dreadful, or worse (and it can be worse).

Anyway, since you may still be here, and since I certainly am, I had a bad day today and I’m going to write about it in violation of my usual approach to writing on this site. Since I already wrote a lengthy letter about the issue — which shall remain sent to the recipient and only the recipient and the blogosphere shall remain spared the details (which don’t actually matter, just that the bad day today that I had began with this earlier bad experience, since handled through to my conclusion the only way I know how and that is by writing a complaint to that-which-shall-remain-nameless and then setting about to reconfigure my life and situations to counter that, to reconfigure toward some other permutation of living that does without or replaces that-which-shall-remain-nameless — but, again, since I already took steps to act as constructively as possible about that, and that-which, I then set about to consider the blog and there was this space and it was begging).

Blogs, blogging, it’s all in the news to no one’s news at this point. Being that since there is already so much mention about blogging and those who blog, I am not adding anything new to that by writing that redundant introductory sentence there, this graph. But, suffice it to say, it isn’t blogs and bloggers affecting me tonight but something altogether else. As I wrote, it shall remain nameless so no good can come from speculating beyond that and beyond me writing here that it isn’t about blogs, or bloggers or anything related in any direct fashion.

When a bad day happens, in my experience, it’s the culmination of several approaching, encroaching things and conditions, or maybe worries and fears coupled with a few bad signs on a horizon, but it’s never just the day itself that goes bad, but conditions combined and leading up to some day focal point. Today was that day.

It started when an avocado tree that I cherish — think of your favorite dog or cat or maybe both and then regard an avocado tree in similar affections and perhaps you get an idea of my affections for this particular avocado tree that I grew from a seed through to abundant flourish (until recently) — it all started when the cherished tree was found wilted to the point of death, burned it looks. In Southern California, it’s either very hot and dry or it’s cold and damp and we go from one midnight to one early morning and often with those extremes: midnight, it is freezing, while by eight A.M., it is eighty degrees. Or vice versa.

Problem is, you cannot often know what is what unless you make frequent trips to and from the outofdoors or are outside for a lot of hours in every day at certain hours. You come home, it’s hot, you wake up at four A.M., it’s freezing outside and foggy, you wear cashmere at seven A.M. (it’s still foggy and cold) and by ten A.M. you are overdressed and you come home to find the sun has died off the delicate shade-loving plants that were moved two inches the night before.

Which is about what happened, I am thinking, about my loved and darling and up until recently quite heroic avocado tree. It had lovely green shoots all over the tips, each and every tip, was vibrant with life and then one morning I woke up and the entire tree was drooped over as if visited by death itself, if not so, at some time during the night. While I slept. My innocent and treasured avocado tree, shut down into gloomy destruction and quite abstractly ugly by whatever nocturnal process doomed my nearby outside, blighting everything.

Stranger still, when I noticed the destructed tree, it was then hot and midday and whatever took place the night before was yet another of those freak California freaky freaks, freaking freaky changes.

The television began advising that there were “giant squid found dead and littering the Southern California beaches” and also mid-ocean sea-dwelling birds found soaked in petroleum and I thought back to the night in bed and remembered the low lumbering shaking of the entire place and realized I was peaked in urbanity. As in, the place is too much for me, complete with rumbling floors and walls and idling trucks bringing fillings to foot-traffic-intensive retailers that permeate the Southern California landscape, such as it is: landscape of constructs and dead avocado trees and me found in between the dead squid, dirty birds and problematic sea.

A sea should not be problematic, least of all, it should not pose a problem of oiling and getting oiled, fouled or otherwise. Life in Hawaii for a lot of years and I got to see what the ocean used to be like when I grew up some of my years in Florida, whose oceans are now not found as they used to be, as Hawaii still is for the most part and as it is no longer in California. But, in Hawaii, at least with a huge sea around it’s near sea, you get to walk right up to clear sea and touch it with your toes, go swim in clarity up over your head, get out and feel the salt and spray but have no ear infections afterward, nor find petroleum streaking your legs and on your back when you later take the suit off. Which you do now find in California waters. And last time I was in the Florida Keys, I found algea all over what used to be a fresh lobster bed, now no longer home to lobsters yet home to floating plastic and slippery green goo.

So, the day. The bad day today. My lost avocado tree that I loved and grew from a seed into abundance and flourish, now gone, wilted by whatever awful nightly force California had to serve one night, the night of shaking floors, noisey but not abnormal intensity, the common standard of too much too many too often too close together. Even good neighborhoods here are now bad, is what I mean.

And right after I read about the dead squid, I heard Barbara Boxer and then read Nancy Pelosi’s words and I tried to sleep after watching a bad film, “Shrek 2,” which I had high hopes for what with my affection for Shrek and Dunkeah but found to be very, very bad, like my day today that followed.

The green theme here and pink, dead squid and the waters are muddy and fouled and if California can ever get itself together by disbanding the nonsense, I will once again think about growing more avocado trees and loving them again, but as of tonight, the whole place just feels like doom.

It was a bad day today. There are no fairy tales that can make it better, nothing that can be waved in magic wands that can resurrect my avocado tree, despite whatever certain animation factories opine as possible. Wave a magic wand, make the ocean clear, wave a magic wand, resurrect California. Wave a magic wand, then put the wand down.

I had a bad day today and nothing I read can make the avocado tree whole. Save my tree, save me, but realistically, what I read is that there are waves of wands over the most base of things, nitpicking down into some point of an abyss and it won’t make things high, it only emphasizes how low it all goes. And, the abyss and those who write from there do not make it better, they don’t save me, they can’t bring the avocado tree back.


C O M M E N T S : now closed