Maybe it’s because the 10th anniversary  of 911 that I’m feeling such angst this morning.  I know I’m missing my daughter, Addy, this morning, whom I was with on that morning. At the time I was working from home so that I could tend to her. I remember that I was so caught up in watching on TV what was  going on that I smeared apricot baby food on her face. Of course, I’ve told this story many times, as so many others have told their stories of where they were on that morning. But Addy called me yesterday (she’s with her mom this weekend) to ask me about it again, wanting to know what kind of food I got all over her face and did she cry or laugh. I told her I couldn’t really remember, although I was pretty sure she didn’t cry. She was just a happy baby eating her breakfast.

I suppose that some of my angst is because of the move. I’m moving back in with my folks, which I’m kind of torn about. Of course, it is not the ideal situation. I mean, I’m 43 and should have my own place. And, right now I could probably continue to rent my apartment. I could probably just afford it, for a few months anyway. But I currently don’t have any serious debt and want to avoid that. I have a bit of saving but the last thing I want to do is eat that up. That, I hope, will go for a house some day, a place for me and Addy, where she can have her own room, her own space. Also, I think that my parents could use my help. My mom needs help taking care of my father, whose health is failing. And they need help with the upkeep of the house. Perhaps that will sound like a rationalization to some. Oh well…. But considering the state of the economy, especially the job-market, it seems a necessary move.

I’m also stressing about my job situation. I don’t have one, and of course I’d like to have one. I’m waiting to hear about a job this week. I’m also torn about that. I want a job but this one will mean long hours, 50-60 per week. I’m not afraid to work long hours but I’ll see my daughter a lot less because of that. I’ll be seeing her less in any case, because living with my parents won’t allow me to have her as much as I do now. But I don’t see how I can NOT take a job offer in this economy. How many people find a new job a month after they lose their job? Not that many would be my guess. I hear stories all the time about people being out of work for 6 months, a year, two even three years. Yikes! And then of course I’m afraid that they’ll contact me and decide to pass for whatever reason. Then I’ll be back to the drawing board, starting over. Sigh.

But I suppose that I should really count myself lucky. Yes, I lost my job but I have quality work experience and a good education to prop me up. And I have a place to go, someplace I can stay that will allow me save money for mine and my daughter’s future while affording me the opportunity to help my parents. And while 911 scared the crap out of me badly, I lost no family or friends. Things could be worse. Of course, I worry that just saying that could somehow jinx me. Knock on wood.

It was cloudy this morning, and it appeared that it had rained last night, the ground wet, puddles in the parking lot of my apartment complex, but the sun seems to be coming out. Maybe I’ll go for a walk.

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I’m reading this…and this…and this…and, oh yeah, this too…

As per usual, I’m having a hard time reading one book to the end before picking up another.

Last week, I set aside Slackonomics and Real World, and for some reason started reading David Brin’s The Postman, a science fiction novel from the 80s that was the basis for that Kevin Costner movie, The Postman. It isn’t a very good movie but for some reason I have an attachment to it. Probably because it is of the post-apocalyptic variety, always a favorite of mine. Also, I rarely ever like science fiction novels. Somthing about the writing style of most SF writers doesn’t appeal to me. But I’m always on the look out for one I can get into. That happened this time.

Of course, for me, Cormac McCarthy’s The Road is the gold standard for this particular genre, if you can all it that. His novel is much darker than Brin’s, and thus much more realistic in my mind. Brin’s novel, while intersting, seems to unwilling to examine closely just how depraved human being can, and likely would, become under such circumstances.

It’s interesting how post-911 this fear has crept back into the  public consciousness. When I was in high school in the 80s, I fretted about nuclear war, as did many of my friends and I’m assuming other people my age. But I wonder if adults back then worried about it as much? I don’t recall anyone stockpiling supplies like water and food etc. Or keeping extra cash in the house. Or having on hand things like emergency packs from the Red Cross and crank-generated radios etc. Now they do, though. I know I do. In fact, I need to re-evaluate my families emergency kits and see what more is needed.

Somehow it seems like it was inevitable that the fears from Generation X’s youth would rear their ugly heads again in our adulthood, but maybe that is just standard GenX cynicism at work.

Anyhoo…back to my reading montage. Today, George Pelecanos’s new novel, The Turnaround, came out, so I’m reading that now too. Pelecanos is one of my favorite writers. For just a plain good story with great chracters, no one does it better. Pelecanos also wrote for the HBO series, The Wire, perhaps the greatest TV show ever!

What to read next?

Finally finished reading Glamorama by Brett Easton Ellis. Now — boom! — I’m done. I can talk about it if the opportunity presents itself, although I can’t really imaging that happening, but I’m not really going into now. Something about Ellis’s writing is compelling and tedious at the same time. It’s strange. I wonder if that is reflective of the author’s personality at all?

So now the question is what do I read next?

Of course, I’m still in the midst of Millennial Makover, but I’m feeling my enthusiasm wane considerably. I doubt I’ll finish it, but before I do I hope to blog on the way the authors talk about the three different generations — Baby Boomers, Generation X, and Millennials — by detailing the TV shows that they grew up with and which refelct their specific mindset or cultural sensibility or whatever.

Anyhoo…I’ve moved fictionally anyway.

First to Netherland by Joseph O’Neil. It got a pretty good review in The New York Time Book Reivew, if I remember correctly. It was described as one of the better novels about 9/11, another sort of literary genre that I am interestred in. I started reading it and liked it, the writing, but something about the main character put me off. He seemed a bit of milk sop. I don’t know. He was from London, I think, and moves to New York, but after 9/11 the marriage falls apart and wife  insists on leaving, certain that another attack on NY is inevitable. But really she wants to get away from her husband, because when he offers to leave his job and go with her she basically lets him know that it is because of him that she is really leaving. Anyway, the whole set up annoyed me, the way it was wrought, the characters. Blah. But I suppose that says as much about me, if not more, than it does about the book. I haven’t give up on this book but decided to set it aside.

And I moved onto All the Sad Young Literary Young Men, by Keith Gessen. I was eager to read this book after seeeing Gessen on an episode of Titlepage.tv. Also I learned that he is one of the founders of n+1, a literary journal, for which he has written reviews. I remember reading that he had a penchant for being a tough critic, even brutal. Perhaps I was missinformed. Anyway, I admit that fact alone made me want to find fault with his work. Also, I find the title of his novel a bit pretentious. I’m more partial to hip titles, such as Less Than Zero and Bright Lights, Big City and Generation X. But of course there is more to a book than a title and based on the first chapter that seems to be the case with this novel. I’m digging it so far.

But I’ve also recently nabbed a copy  of White Noise by Don Delillo. For me, Delillo rates as one of those authors that I’ve always meant to read, always felt that I should read, but just never got around to it. White Noise was published in 1986, the year I graduated high school, and though I suppose there’s no real serious reason to attach significance to that fact, I do. Perhaps it is slightly legit, as Delillo, I think, tends to write fiction that comments upon and dissects the culture.

Also, just nabbed a copy of The Postman, by David Brin, because, I’m a shamed to admit, I actually have a strange fondness for the movie, staring Kevin Costner. It isn’t that I find it to be a particularly good movie, but I like the premise. I like dystopian stories.

And a nonfiction book entitled Just How Stupid Are We? which is the kind of hysterically-titled book that both intrigues and annoyes me at the outset, and so I feel compelled to read it, so as to either refute it, at least in my head, or find something worthwhile that isn’t all ranting down fall of society bullshit.