I'm listening to a news report of Israelis killed by Palestinians. I've never trusted this eye for an eye business, if only because it's generally innocent eyes that are taken in retaliation. And, of course, that's part of the program. The more innocent who die, the more the anger, straight out of the manual. Whatever the terrorists have done in Palestine, it's worked. Action - reaction, action - reaction, like some great engine pumping up the pressure: one day, one year, one decade after another. Whatever has happened in Palestine, whoever may be at fault, and I suspect it's all of us, isn't good.
We are probably setting our own stage here, right now, for this same miserable journey; political decisions being made behind closed doors that will one day be picked through by historians to find out why it went so wrong. I hope I'm wrong, would love to eat crow and admit I'm wrong, but experience makes me less than sanguine. At least there are a lot of people who seem to see the issues, talk about these issues, even if our political class has been struck dumb.
My last day at the office today for the rest of the year. Monday morning, the operation, Thursday morning, maybe late Wednesday afternoon, back home here to the apartment. I assume I'll know most of what's what on Monday when I talk with the doctor. I believe they have to send the prostate out for analysis to see what's inside and how it's held together. Is what's inside all inside? No time to worry about that, all will soon be known and I can get my head back together. I am sitting here feeling dizzy, this dizzy thing that's been around now for a while, not fall over or lose my balance dizzy, but, I don't know, dizzy, the back and top of my head tingling, ears ringing and I'm blaming this for now on Monday. Either that or my inner ear. Either that or something more horrendous.
You get to "more horrendous" by thinking too much, methinks, best to hunker down and get through it. Too much "inner" here for my taste, too much "horrendous". The revolt of the inner ear. Revolting, maybe, against the accumulation of less than perfect life long habits, come home to roost now, their dizzy blinking bloodshot eyes drawing closer, waiting, watching, as I dribble off into incoherence.
(Are we drifting off into whining here, self? A little. That and poetic license.)