The Injustice of Defeat

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“The injustice of defeat lies in the fact that its most innocent victims are made to look like heartless accomplices. It is impossible to see behind defeat, the sacrifices, the austere performance of duty, the self-discipline and the vigilance that are there — those things the god of battle does not take account of.” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Now. Back against cold stucco, I witness the rugged music of what sounds like a big dog barking low, while curious about what the dog is on about I am also watching the unmoving stars, a kind of stability I could use right now. It’s not just the exhaustion from an emotional week, I also made a bad mistake yesterday, I accidentally took two doses of my psych meds, which made for a rough day, which I spent in the chair, afraid to fall asleep. I made it through and the effects wore off by 3 PM. Woof. About 4 PM I took the car out for a short drive, to reorient myself to the “real” world, to get grounded again, because I was well over my hermit quota. Was I scared? Yeah, for about the first hour, then I noticed that the psychotropic effects from the drugs were really kind of pleasant. It’s not the type of high I want to go through again, and I missed a day’s work, which pisses me off, since the company of being with 50+ cats is really a big part of my therapy for depression, PTSD, probable brain damage, and anxiety. I’m a mess, admittedly. It’s small comfort I find in the statistics showing that a friggin lot of people suffer from depression. Give us a hand, my friends. We are the silent fighters, who sometimes rise to rally agains the purely false impression that depression is sadness or grief, or weakness, or some sort of failure to suck it up. It is not “all in the head”. If you think it is all in the head then you are only in my mind, because I ain’t letting you into my meatspace until you get your facts straight, bubba. I mean, didn’t you know that making shit up then calling it facts makes you ordinary, not special? And I also mean that even in dreams artificial presentations pretty much frack up the works. It affects everybody when things ain’t quite right in Mudville. When Mighty Casey strikes out we all lose. Of course you could call it all karma or past-life justice, but, once again, I ain’t letting you near me, k?

As per usual the coffee tastes good. It was the last of my splurge via quality coffee, but my bank account slash budget says I can get quality coffee again. That usually doesn’t happen. Usually I must go with the analogy: PBR instead of Sam Adams. Hey, did you know that Paul Revere did not complete his famous ride, he did not end up ratting on the Brits. Instead he got so drunk due to stopping by all of the taverns in the name of spreading the news that he fell off his horse. It was Sam Adams who jumped into the saddle and completed the ride, finally lighting the lights in the belfry of the Old North Church. My 7th grade history teacher told me that, Mr. What’shisname,  who had a passion for setting the record straight, history-wise. Bless his heart. George Washington never cut down the cherry tree, k?

“Night rider, night rider
You may think that it’s the breeze
Whispering through the lonely trees
But it’s only him a’flying round the bend
As the day comes to that end” George Thorogood

Now. I’ve pretty much said all I have to say. But . . . regular readers will know that I have been taking to the defense of our former veterinarian at the animal shelter where I work. It’s been a nightmare to do so. When people hear “animal abuse” they get all up in arms and stuff. I still contend that the facts used against him were in part inaccurate, and in some cases even nonsensical. Maybe a big part. It’s what you call an opinion, based on my working at the friggin guy’s side for months. Politics is what I see, but that’s just me.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

 

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