Finally have my new room set up, more or less. Monica was kind enough to drive me up to IKEA Saturday to get a desk and clothes rack (this room has no closet). The long wall, against the windows, is exactly long enough for my bed and desk to be placed end-to-end. I'm quite proud of what I've made of this relatively small chamber.
Friday night I wandered over to see Scout at the Golden West again. Returned home with two completely unexpected things (if Craig Finn were here, he might quip "Will got caught up in some complicated things"). One of them was a discussion with Colin, who is now roommates with ex-Trafalgar singer Lisa--forgot to ask him if she still hates me--and whom I hadn't seen in months, about mental disorders. This mostly consisted of a very drunk and incensed Colin raving that "bipolar disorder is bullshit" and me trying to explain, in the calmest voice I could muster, that some people can't simply "get their shit together" and they don't deserve to be hated for it. Guy's got his reasons--soon-to-be ex-wife's bipolar disorder apparently disintegrated their terribly brief marriage, and he mentioned something about having a family history of mental illness, I don't know what the story is there--but it was still shocking when he slammed his hands on the bar, bolted out of his stool and left me in the middle of my sentence. He later returned and apologized.
The whole encounter reminded me yet again that, whatever upsets other people, probably the thing that upsets me the most is when good people get hurt and fill up with hate.
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It is hard when you hit someone's sore spot without knowing it... almost as hard as when your own sore spot is hit, and you have an uncontrollable knee jerk reaction you can only process later.
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