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Back at home in Brooklyn with what, I suppose, passes for good news:  John & Gary's lawyers filed papers in court today to have the original judge in their case hear an argument against eviction.  That's not going to happen until December 9th,  so the Sword of Damocles is no longer hanging over my, uh, our necks.

John did something funny today.  He's not sure exactly how attached to Truckstop I am (hell, I'm not sure of how attached to the stupid cat I am), so he tried floating the medical excuse as a reason for us to get rid of him.  The kitty is just too wild for them, and John seems to think the scratches are dangerous for Gary's condition.  Truckie is wild, I'll be the first to admit.  In some ways, I'd be relieved to be free of the responsibility for him, but in another way seeing him go will make me really sad.  And I won't deny that it also makes me angry.  I'm beginning to feel that even if we survive the whole bid for eviction thing, it wouldn't really be best to go on living here for very long.  It's not so much being forced to get rid of my cat - which I don't think John & Gary would really follow through on - though that's a part of it.  It's the cigarette smoke, the pot smoke, the incense used to cover the smell of the other two.  The blaring TV on the other side of the supposedly sound-proof wall.

It's important to note that I don't blame anyone but me for these things - John has asked repeatedly if the TV bothers me, and I've never just said, "Well, yes."  It's a product of my upbringing - I avoid conflict.  Or I like to save conflict for the really important things.  I don't know.

I'm in the mood, lately, to look for reasons to be unhappy.  Lots of melancholy lately, me.  Not sure why.  The trip to Pittsburgh this weekend was fun, but also very weird.  I saw so many people who seemed so happy to see me, but I found myself, I don't know, really suspicious of their sincerity- and that has less to do with them than it does with me.  I don't know how it could be that there are so many people who delight in me, but that I could still be so unhappy there.

It's a complete mystery to me that can be.  I mean, isn't that what I've always counted as my real wealth?  The good will of the people in my life?  Who knew that being practically universally adored isn't all it's cracked up to be?

Obviously, I'm indulging in a little hyperbole there, but my point is valid, I think.  I go from person to person there hearing how good it is to see me - which is delightful - but I don't harbor any warm and homey feelings for that place anymore.