Nothing

Sunday, too, the cold rain came down.  And I could not get warm.  Every few minutes I would turn the thermostat up, but there is little more chilling than the moist southern cold.  "This will be a good day," I told myself, making plans for all the things I would do.  I got my Christmas cards and addresses and began to work at that.  I ate a pecan danish roll of some sort with a big glass of milk.  And sat.  And sat.  It was too awful, I told myself, to run outside, so I made myself dress to go run on the treadmill at the gym.  It was already after noon.

On my way out, I looked at the answering machine.  I rarely check it because I never get any phone calls.  But the light was blinking.  It was my neighbor, the one who had the Christmas party and didn't invite me.  I don't know how I missed the call.  I must have been at the grocery store when he rang.  "It's about eight o'clock," he said, "and we're trying to get on the internet over here, but it says we need a password.  Give me a call."  The cheap bastard had some balls, I thought.  For some reason, he was calling me from his party next door and was trying to use my account to get on the internet.  It is not like the guy doesn't have any money.  He is a high ranking architect with one of the major firms in town.  Has been for year.  Insult to injury, I thought.

After the gym, I decided that I would go to the Apple Store at the mall to see what I might get myself for Christmas.  I needed to get out of the house.  I needed, I  thought, to see the Christmas revelers.

And that cured me.  It was not romantic.  It was not fun.  Horrible people walking about looking aimlessly for things to want.  And me.

But dinner with my mother was no panacea, either.  She pressed me for details about Christmas.  When would we leave to go to Hillbilly Holidays, she asked.  What day?  When?

After dinner, at my own home, hoping for something that was not coming, I got a call from my friend who lives in Yosemite.  He had invited me to come out over Christmas to stay with him and his wife and his one year old baby.  I have been thinking about it for weeks.  I should want to go.  I have not been to Yosemite in the winter to see it covered up in snow.  I would be in the home of best friends (I performed their wedding ceremony two years ago).  It should be marvelous.

But something has been holding me back.

We chatted for a bit. He had his baby boy in his lap and was preparing his dinner.  He is an outdoor guide now, having retired from a stock brokerage at the age of thirty.  I will tell you that story some time.  I've wondered how his investments have done and whether he is hurting now with the recession.

"We're thinking of buying up some property in Mariposa," he said.  "Things are really cheap.  We can rent it out.  We're thinking of getting two places, maybe."

"Jesus," I whined, "I'm sitting here thinking about how I will survive old age and you're telling me this?"

"I've got some more news," he said.  "Did I tell you Madison is pregnant?  The doc says she thinks she can see a nut sack in the sonogram.  It could be another boy."

"That's great," I said, "really great."

"O.K. I've got to get Anderson fed.  Call me and let me know if you decide to come out."

What is it about other people's happiness?  I was glad for them, of course.  It was not that, but the absolute contrast in things.  I sat there alone in the darkness plunging quickly into a place I didn't want to go.

"Stop it," I said.  "Stop it."

The cat looked up from where she was curled upon the couch.  The house was clean.  I'd done that, at least.  There were the pictures on the walls and the Christmas cards on the mantle.  The heater snapped on to fight the cold.

"You are thinking too much.  You sit and think.  Just stop it."

I got up to check my email.  The inbox was empty.  There was nothing.