“Many people suffer from the fear of finding oneself alone, and so they don’t find themselves at all.” ~ Rollo May; Man’s Search for Himself
Okay, okay, let’s get this done. No really, I feel justifiably lazy on this Sunday morning. And now that the friggin chickens just outside my window have quieted down I can write. The past two days at work have been rigorous. I’m tired. It’s been hot. Traffic’s been crazy. Why am I suddenly writing in a brisk Hemingway brevity mode? Maybe I’m channeling, and if that is the case I would much rather it be Neil Gaiman but he’s still alive so I’ll just have to do it myself. Ernest dude just chill dude so back off k? Woof. It’s hard being a writer. Friggin influences sometimes just don’t know when their job description has expired. You know, I need to remind myself that today is the Summer Solstice so the spirits of Ancestors are probably afoot in the land. My Grandmother Florence came to me this morning and my Grandmother Olive is with me a good part of the time as she is one of my Muses, and a fierce critic of grammar. Of course I call out to the love of my life, across through the Veil, hoping that she draws near because she once told me, quite adamantly, that I was seriously mistaken in saying that marijuana would eventually be legalized. Lori, sweetie, ever been to Colorado?
I did a lot of reading this morning. There were two pieces that really set in with me, one about head trauma and one about a rare neurological disorder. I love this stuff. I got into it in trying to understand things about myself and how I relate to the world, things that I needed medical professionals to diagnose, things that made me feel kinda sorta whacked at times. For any new readers I have the following (I am NOT whining here, k?): Bipolar 2 disorder, PTSD, unspecified brain damage, two petit mal seizures, and the partridge seems to have flown the coop thus leaving my pear tree sans bird. How’s that for obscure? But about the head trauma. I probably acquired that about 30 years ago. The two following years were dreamlike for me, though not nightmarish, and when friends and acquaintances asked how I was doing I told them that I had lost my anchor and asked if they had one handy I could borrow. Of course they would then edge away politely. The following five years I worked hard to figure out, through reading, what had happened, through a more intimate inquiry, and how I might rearrange my perception to better fit into a world that to me was rather crazy overall. Soooo . . how’m I doin? As for the bipolar, I am successfully medicated, a condition I cherish because it works and I am grateful for that. And the brain damage? I reckon I am alright with that and I have a strong intuitive “dude pay attention!” hunch that it is responsible for the perception that the world, especially my movements, leaves subtle trails of the sort that might come to you if you had psilocybin mushrooms in your Sunday morning omelet. The world dances around me but I do not need Galileo to tell me that I am not the center of the rotations. I also have a small patch of chronic dyshydrotic eczema on my right foot. We learn to live with these things. They can make us a better person if we let them. I often see the bipolar thingy as a gift. I acquired this notion from conversations with my old friend, Lady Di (no, not that one), over chilled mugs of draft Budweiser with a healthy squeeze of fresh Key Lime in it. Diane believed that depressives actually see the world more clearly than almost all people. At times I agree with her. It happens often, but I believe that political correctness serves as a filter that kind of clouds perception so it’s hard to tell who has one up. I can tell you that since I smacked my head against the planet I’ve been hard-pressed to couch my expression in propriety.
The kittens above, in the opening photo, are most certainly precious, unless you have to get in to clean their cages, and then they become a pain in the ass. We’ve got lots of kittens at the shelter, folks. Come look. Now, I’m gonna get back to lazy.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.