My father had his second cataract surgery today. There were complications. In the dormant period of time between Introspection and StoreyTelling, you may have missed the fact that I attended his first cataract surgery, an unfettered success. Both were held in Albuquerque, and we decided to forgo me making a second trip because the first went so smoothly. No matter the ridiculousness, one feels a certain amount of responsibility for something like this.

A friend is having communications today. There are complications. In the dormant period of time between Introspection and StoreyTelling, you may have missed the fact that this friend visited Berkeley and imparted to me tales of a series of life-changing events. It seems I am uniquely placed in this world to help this person through this struggle and, in so doing, find another reason for what has transpired in my life. I used to say “happened to me”. I almost did again. One starts to take a certain amount of responsibility for something like this.

Hillary Clinton is running for President today. She is a woman and a Democrat. But she is also complicated. She typifies neither women, nor Democrats, if anyone does. And what would that even mean? I am not prone to doing anything other than laughing at FoxNews, which makes it all the more chilling that they are the source of one of the most compelling political articles I’ve ever read. The man writing it is a libertarian, coming from a vantage point I have significant distaste for. Yet there is something deeply common in our perspectives that allows us to see through all this absurdity of partisan illusion and realize that Clinton is Bush. And Bush is Bush. And Bush is Clinton. And when Hillary extends the dynasty’s reign over America past the twenty-year mark, will anyone take responsibility for this?

My Dad is okay. He had an allergic reaction and is due for a rough night, but the morning’s return visit should fix everything. And my friend will be okay as well, through the choppy surf of sine curves that eventually ease, but never subside. Hillary will be more than fine, but what of the rest of us? Note the definitive tone that Balko uses toward the end of the article, despite raising electoral vulnerabilities of Hillary, taking solace in what will be fun to watch in the destined presidency ahead.

We all like to tell ourselves stories. Things are easy, straightforward, simple, monochrome. There are good guys and bad guys, and we are all good guys. There are villains out to get us, but we can stay strong and triumph.

The truth is a lot muddier than that. Ariel once told me, I think paraphrasing a more well-known source, that one’s “friends are just assholes you like.” I think there’s something to that, although I might be more tempted by “one’s enemies are just people you hate.” It’s complicated.

Doctors, lovers, and Democrats are not here to save us. They are not perfect people, blessed by the right holy hands, ready to bestow their graces in turn on an otherwise hopeless population. They are corruptible, fallible, often terrible people. And getting sick, being betrayed, voting Republican – these are not the unmitigated vices they may seem. Surely they hurt. But sometimes pain is our only hope of positive change.

As we were setting up for our Second Annual Pumpkin-Carving Extravaganza at the house on Saturday, our neighbor intoned in a horrified whisper: “You’re not going to light those, are you?” I choked back a hundred wry comments to instead mumble something about “not during the day…” only to quickly cover it with “We’ll be careful.” She replied with paranoia about fires and thinly veiled threats of police action. For candles. In pumpkins. On Halloween.

Even that which we take for granted is complicated.

But it was my father who told me at a young age that what makes the phrase “Love thy neighbor” so compelling is the fact that one tends to have a really obnoxious neighbor. You might get along well with the whole neighborhood, but there’s that one neighbor… And until recently, this probably wasn’t even her. But love? What’s love got to do with it?

Compassion for complication. Today, it may be our only hope.