unlocked

Friday, Nov. 28, 2003 - 11:41 p.m.

I have decided to unlock the diary: it was locked for several months because I had written an entry back in June that hurt somebody's feelings most dreadfully. I have removed the offending piece.

I got a letter from a stranger who chastised me, and rightly so, for the unfeeling callousness and callowness of my words. She was correct; and I curse GOOGLE for allowing my words to be "searchable."

So unlocked I am. Perhaps it will be a metaphor for a new phase of existence. I did not want to have a "prudent" diary; on the other hand, once locked, I rarely wrote. Maybe I can be unlocked Throcky and at the same time "sensitive" Throcky. Unlocked yet sensitive? Sounds like walking on hot coals.

Throckmorton Minor is eating locusts, live octipus, and plans to eat Nutrition Stew if it is offered to him in a social setting. He's such a trooper: I remember all those times he ate tripe and tete roulée when he was in France. An adaptable child, he moved right away from a love for mashed potatoes (dubbed "Food for Kings" by the boys) to an ease in coaxing the meat from the escargot.

Recent motifs in my life: Johnny Cash, Anthony Trollope, and a surprising indifference to things which would have excited me not that long ago, such as Tammy Faye Bakker-Messner's new opus, the scandal surrounding the Prince of Wales (I speculate "the English sickness" and not mere buggery).

I corrupted a student by making a Lesley Gore CD for him; I managed to end up in the hospital for 2 days because I have bursitis in my left elbow--no, I did NOT want to go to the hospital and did so screaming and shouting that I was an EXCELLENT diagnostician and KNEW that there was nothing cardiac about my pain. One surprising benefit: they gave me a shot of morphine into my IV (and I had been an IV virgin) and left me on a gurney outside the room of a heavily guarded prisoner. I calmly lay there reading NORTHANGER ABBEY. No morphine nightmares or hallucinations for Miss Throckmorton: just getting painlessly down with Jane and observing prison guards. Somehow it all made sense at the time......

After arduous and multiple cardiac testing, the magic word "bursitis" was pronounced: I TOLD them that. My good doctor is overly attentive.

And so to bed, with THE WAY WE LIVE NOW.

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