blindness

I'm parking at Crossroads Park & Ride lately. The good: I'm saving gas - this is especially good since I recently saw an executive from one of the oil companies excusing every "presumption" the American consumer has about oil production and the reason for increasing gas prices. I was actually convinced for a moment - I was coaxed in by his answers that seemed to make sense. I mean, sure, why not dig deeper, open up Alaska more, for more opportunities? And of course he is for alternative fuel but he makes sense when he says that corn isn't the answer because it's a food source and that can go to people! I just don't feel qualified enough about the history around this but I need to be. It's ridiculous to me that I don't have the information I need to either really agree with him or be able to refute him.

The bad of the park and ride: having to wait for the ONE bus that comes every 1/2 hour of so that goes from UTSA (my current income source) to the park and ride. I'm not a patient woman so I work late to get to the bus stop 2 minutes before the bus is supposed to arrive only to have to wait 10 more minutes. I haven't been doing my yoga or breathing lately, or writing consistently! so, I have been a little ansy.

Another plus side: I've been reading books on the ride up and down to the University. I just finished Blindness by Jose Saramago. It took me a while to get into it, then I was completely engrossed and disgusted, then I didn't want to read any more of it, and then I was glad it was done. What turmoil! I need a light comedy after that book! The story goes that this white blindness takes over a country, leaving everyone without vision while the country stops production, falls into anarchy and its citizens become less and less human. It's a macabre work, almost as emotion producing as when you truly learn of destruction (9/11, Darfur) and see it. I haven't had a book affect me that way in awhile but alternative realities and science fiction have their base in truth and theory, in probable outcomes when looking at the world right now - and that is scary enough.

I think, as a writer, it's curious that the book shows a writer who, with blank paper and a ball point pen, manages to write his and his family's story, despite blindness, and likes ballpoint pens because he can feel where the marks are. It is also sad that he quietly dismisses his own story as not as valuable as that of the main narrator and the group of people she is saving because the narrator is the one person who can still see and, among her group, are those who were the first to be blinded.

More later. I'm still processing.