I've noticed that when I'm walking, even when it's in the 30s, like it has been recently in the mornings, my hands warm up before long and I have to take off my gloves. My forehead and ears are still cold and I have to keep my hat on. My neck stays cold, but my hands are warm. You would think that hands would be harder to keep warm than a neck or head since the hands are thinner with less blood running through them.

Everything is back to being clear and delicate looking in the morning. The sky like an eggshell that has light shining through and slowly gets brighter and brighter. This weekend it's suppose to get all the way into the low 70s, good walking weather since it's also suppose to be somewhat cloudy. In some places that means humid. Here it means less sun.

I finished "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" by Dave Eggers. It is suppose to be somewhat autobiographical about how a white guy from the rich Chicago suburb of Lake Forest who ends up raising his younger brother after both his parents die within a month or two of each other. It's the type of book I don't like reading because it's a disconnected, stream of consciousness narrative that wanders in time and is extremely hard to read. It's also very whiny and 'I'm a martyr because I never had to worry about money but my parents were screwed up' type of book, which I don't like.

. . But just when I was about to quit I would read a section and it would be just like I've thought from time to time, sometimes even often. He's put into a book all the paranoia and wishful thinking and wanting to be important that we all think about but never admit. He's more than a generation behind me so I found that some of his fantasies boring but the paranoia and fear were universal, and sometimes, as they so often are, so petty and self serving.

I can remember worrying about my kids when I didn't know where they were and being absolutely terrified for them and then, in the back of my mind, thinking that if I had to call the cops to help look for them, they would probably take the kids away from me because the house was so filthy, and what would people think of me! and then think of myself as a terrible mother. When push comes to shove I think most of us would do whatever needs to be done to protect our kids, help our families and be there for our friends, but in the mean time, we wish someone would take care of us and think of us as important and special.

I know I've listened to discussions of some mental case and how they thought and cringed beause there have been times I thought like that too. Well, not the killing part. I never wanted to kill anyone, just watch them be humilitated and crushed. I suppose the difference between our thoughts and those of a maniac is that we know it's fantasy and not real life. I know I'll never inheirit a million dollars or save the world or have someone who is will do anything for my love, but sometimes life's rough and it's nice to dream; and sometimes we just lose perspective and dream up everyday terrors in our ongoing struggle to deal with life.