“You cannot imagine the craving for rest that I feel—a hunger and thirst. For six long days, since my work was done, my mind has been a whirlpool, swift, unprogressive and incessant, a torrent of thoughts leading nowhere, spinning round swift and steady” ~ H. G. Wells
“That which is dreamed can never be lost, can never be undreamed.” ~ Neil Gaiman
“Each wave that rolls onto the shore must release back to the ocean. You are the same. Each wave of action you take must release back to the peace within you. Stress is what happens when you resist this natural process. Everyone needs breaks. Denying this necessity does not remove it. Let yourself go. Realize that, sometimes, the best thing to do is absolutely nothing.” ~ Vironika Tugaleva
(The third quote is important to what I am writing about today, so I highlighted it with a different color than the first two. It is simply prose of a different color.)
It’s one of those mornings when it is hard to get rolling on the blogging stuff. No worries. I finally started. I’m in the “mundane” region on the existential scale. Food, shelter, and a few good laughs. Tis a workday, and I have had too few of those lately. I’m not complaining. It is good to catch up on rest. Yet here I sit full of pain. Not really sure where it is coming from; and it is nerve pain, having no detectable specific source. Ibuprofen? Yeh buddy. It sucks anyway. I had a good shower yesterday afternoon, but a few minutes in the hot shower should do me a lot of good in regards to the pain and all this morning. There are still times when I get weepy from running the hot spray straight on the back of my neck. It used to happen every time, before the neck surgery to repair what could be saved in there. This is a prime example of the emotional effects from PTSD. My neck injury, at the point of impact, was what caused the PTSD. Thus my neck still remembers vividly. Another prime example is when the massage therapist hits one of these muscle memory spots. I gave her a rundown on the accident, the NDE, and the nature of the injuries involved, so she knows that I am not just being freaky when I get weepy on the table. And it is soooo cool – she’s a mom, two teenaged children. So when I verbally express the intense emotions that emerge from tight spots, or I just silently endure the rush of feelings . . . it’s not a secret. At those times I still emit little throat and chest sounds that betray my discomfort. Anyway, the mom thing: when she hears my emotional expression she makes little mom sounds. It has such a soothing effect. The best of healing is comprised of either soft or . . . oh, never mind. I’m out of time. A little shower therapy then off to the daily grind. It is still holiday season, dammit. Peeps get like all worked up and stuff. Recently I’ve admitted something to myself – Red Bull is not the cause of socio-personal agitation – it is a symptom. I am prone to look at this from a perspective of retrocausality, which essentially means that the the effect comes first, and the cause comes later. Woof, deep, right? Just wait, I am still unsteady on that POV. I could be wrong about that. I’ll get back to y’all on that, k?
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.