Fleeing the Groundhog


“If we listened to our intellect we’d never have a love affair. We’d never have a friendship. We’d never go in business because we’d be cynical: “It’s gonna go wrong.” Or “She’s going to hurt me.” Or,”I’ve had a couple of bad love affairs, so therefore . . .” Well, that’s nonsense. You’re going to miss life. You’ve got to jump off the cliff all the time and build your wings on the way down.”  ~  Ray Bradbury

There’s kind of a “Groundhog’s Day” feel to the day; that kind of day that repeats itself over time with only minute changes. One thing I can note is that there is a turtledove cooing away, on and off. I don’t recall hearing that in a while. Likely my state of mind, that which produces this perception, is drawn from having an extremely busy day at work yesterday. No illusions, it was fun. There is something about productivity and teamwork that feeds the soul. Now, where the heavy allergy attack came from I don’t know. Run down, temporarily, from totally legitimate circumstances, with a tiredness that is fully explainable and eminently merited. I suspect we don’t give ourselves that much due. Not often anyway. We are too busy fleeing the groundhog, right? That little demon that waves his wand and rivets a life into a state of homeostasis, or as they say around these parts: “Work, work, it’s all we do, no?”. Well, ummmm – no, it’s not all we do. But I will not argue the point. We struggle to get ahead; but then so does a tailgater on the road. Remember: I or one of my small legion of moderate folks may be the one in front of you. Whatever, right? I guess. Beware the groundhog, my friend. You are never going to get ahead of me. I dare you to try. Just kidding, being ironic, whatever. Wink, wink. Or obscure? I’m not so sure of that last one. Now, moving forward, gonna go out to see the morning outside. Gon out. Bisy. Bisy backson.

“When you live alone, you can be sure that the person who squeezed the toothpaste tube in the middle wasn’t committing a hostile act.”  ~  Ellen Goodman

A peaceful morning is at hand. Except for the cat, who just woke, and was trying to hasten feeding time. I gave her a gentle STFU and she stopped whining. Coincidence, I’m sure. So, here’s my day. Laundry this morning, but only enough to get me through the next four days at work. Tis Memorial Day weekend and that is prime retail sales time. High pressure stuff. The stuff of retail legend. Then psychotherapy at noon. I’ve noted before that the therapy is for the PTSD. The depression I manage quite nicely. My major malfunction with PTSD is that in the course of any given day it gets triggered numerous times, to a small degree. I have to cope with elevated levels of adrenaline, throughout most of the day. No whining. Not from me. I love a mystery, and this is one of them, but I still can’t for the life of me comprehend it in any kind of descriptive manner. It is a wild and chaotic manifestation. Were it not for the sometimes extreme discomfort I would wonder at it’s purpose. But sometimes disorder has no purpose, only a function. And on that note . . .

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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