Gall

I wrote something here yesterday and it disappeared. I don't know. That's never happened before, that I know of. I started about how angry I was, and that there's not a lot of real emotion here. Went on with how my father a while back made a big deal about wanting some help with a business thing, and when I put him in contact yesterday with someone who might be likely to do a lot of good, he wasn't interested.

I forget the rest. Can't find a trace of it. I have some other blogs, not associated with this persona, that are acting up a bit as well. Archive problems. I like all the posts to be on the main page, and I'm disappointed in this hope. Blogspot has betrayed me. Oh, I think yesterday's disappeared piece was itself about betrayal, or something of equal emotional weight. Futility. Not being able to help people who love their misery more than anything else. Paraphrasing of course. No matter.

I've been having imaginary conversations all day though, like about how I was seven and my brother said I could fly so why don't I jump off the kitchen table, and I knew I couldn't fly but he said he would catch me, but he didn't. And I had this imaginary conversation about what assholes my brothers were, and I've had the scar on my lip for the past 43 years to prove it, and they should have been tied to a post and flogged. I've told that story before. Must be important to me, for me to repeat it.

The response of course is that I should forgive. My response is that forgiveness does not change the fact that they were assholes. It's important to affirm the truth. It's easier to get over these things, when they are admitted. As I've said, though, there is no justice. The convicted child molester -- something about a little girl and a pipe -- who got out after five years maybe and has now raped and murdered a 17 year old girl who was out by the lake jogging. Found her body in a shallow grave. No justice. Hell is too late. Shall we forgive? I just don't see how that's appropriate.

Moses in the wilderness, who struck the rock from which water was to pour, instead of speaking to it, and for this he was denied entry into the Promised Land. Seems harsh. But prophets are held to a high standard, not allowed to be wrong at all, when they speak, and are held accountable for every disobedience. Don't mess up God's symbolism. The Rock does not need to be struck, to pour forth water. But it was only Moses' ambition that was disappointed, not his hope. Satan and Michael contended over his body -- Michael must have prevailed, because there Moses was, in that same old body raised like Lazarus, on the Mount of Transfiguration, chatting with Jesus. So he got into the Promised Land after all. Must have been kept on ice or something. No such problem with Elijah, although I wonder where he's been all this time.

Something to do with there being a plan, that works out, no matter who is obedient or who is not. There must be comfort in such a grand perspective. It's just the details that can break our hearts.

My little 3s and 8s strength program is moving along apace. Closing in on a 300 pound deadlift, 3 sets of 3, two minute rests. And so on. Dips with 125 pounds, next time 135. Not too impressive, considering my 600 pound squat partials of a few years ago, but these are full range. Gotta work through these things, slow, measured, steady. Consistency. I add five or ten pounds every week, every workout, until I find the sticking point. Maybe repeat the same weight once or twice, if it feels very hard. Working into my strength. Train what you have, then build something new.

I called that lost effort from yesterday, "Bile". I wonder what I'll call this one.

J