In The Field of Opportunity

Rosie 003

“But there is a fatality, a feeling so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost invariably compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghost-like, the spot where some great and marked event has given the colour to their lifetime; and, still the more irresistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

Christmas Day has me feeling wistful. So I look up ‘wistful’ and find that it is an accurate word to describe my feelings today. It’s my first Christmas alone in memory. There’s double meaning in that last sentence and both meanings are accurate. I’m working today, I volunteered to do so. I’ll tend to cats all day long then come back home in my accustomed manner. That’s actually not bad at all. I know it is a feast day for many people, and I know that I will have a frozen dinner, but my feelings don’t arise from that. I miss my mother, it’s been eight years since her death, and come to think of it that year was the last time I spent Christmas alone. I did have my not yet ex over for tea that afternoon. She, as a home care and hospice nurse, was out on the road that day, on call for the holiday. At the time I didn’t know that the relationship would become a live-in relationship, one that would last for seven years before it would crash and burn, largely due to my mental illness, which was undiagnosed until the relationship ended.  That end was last year, during the holiday season. I’ve been licking my wounds for the past year. There’s more of that to come. I feel sad to have lost it after all those years, and even though I understand now that much of the behavior that broke us apart was a direct effect from the illness I still feel anger toward myself for letting it happen. But how could I have stopped it? As I have written before, from within the illness hard life experiences look like destiny. You’ve no idea that things could happen differently, except in retrospect, and even then life becomes a series of WTFs, and then . . . what? I doubt that there is even a remote chance of reconciliation and reunion, even though, in many ways, I would truly like that. There is no love lost, we are still friends. But how would I know? The illness is still here, regardless of meds that keep me mostly balanced. There is no cure. When I try to peer beyond the metaphorical wall that the illness casts across my perception I find that wall becomes an old mirror, more often than not. What you see is what you get. Right? Shit, I hope she doesn’t read this post. Neither one of us is getting any younger. What good would honesty do at this point? Alas, says me, tis a tizzy which I care not to encounter. My meds are supposed to quash tizzies, but sometimes some of it seeps through.

There goes the rooster. I was awake for a while around 1:30 AM and he was going at it then as well. What, does he think that he’s friggin Paul Revere or something? It’s six, I work at eight. My sinuses are packed tight, headache included, and I just now remembered that I haven’t taken my meds yet, so I will do that thing, then step outside into the friggin frigid air, then come back in to wrap up this post.

“In the field of opportunity
It’s plowin’ time again.
There ain’t no way of telling
Where these seeds
Will rise or when
I’ll just wait
Around ’til springtime
And then, I’ll find a friend
In the field of opportunity
It’s plowin’ time again.” ~ Neil Young

Rosie the cat lays at my side, making full use of the bed. That’s her in the opening photo, at a tender young age, back when she and I had our first run-in with boundary-setting. She was chomping on computer cables and I reckoned I could convince her of the folly involved in doing so. The confrontation escalated quickly, then she laid into me good. Ouch! I’d reckoned I could change her mind. I did, but I paid the price by witnessing the sensation of fangs up to the gum line sunk into unwilling flesh. My bad.

Dude I’m like all wistful and stuff. That’s where I started, today, on Christmas Day. What goes around comes around. Who am I to have it otherwise. Come on now, who am I to fight such a thing as karma. I’m not a big proponent of the notion of karma. I prefer the usage of Newton’s Third Law of Motion as a metaphor. To me karma seems to insinuate judgement. I am well aware of the potential arguments against that stance but I am responsible for setting my own parameters when it comes to self-attenuation. Is it so bad that mythic analgesic is my drug of choice? The Hero’s Quest done gone and made itself gone. Is that an exercise in choice? Danged if I know. At this point I’d be soothed by a glass of wine and a sick call. But I want to work today. In the presence of some 40 cats I find solace. Today’s coworker has offered to have me over for to her place for Christmas, but I shall decline the invitation. I want to be alone. It’s been a long time and I want to see how it feels to do so by choice.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously. Merry Christmas.



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