“I don’t mind not knowing. It doesn’t scare me.” ~ Richard Feynman
“So through endless twilights I dreamed and waited, though I knew not what I waited for. Then in the shadowy solitude my longing for light grew so frantic that I could rest no more, and I lifted entreating hands to the single black ruined tower that reached above the forest into the unknown outer sky. And at last I resolved to scale that tower, fall through I might; since it were better to glimpse the sky and perish, than to live without even beholding day.” ~ H. P. Lovecraft
“The question of what exactly we remember when we listen to old recordings, or whether it can be called remembering at all, becomes less and less answerable over a lifetime.” ~ Geoffrey O’Brien
There is, each day, much to read, and . . . there’s a lot. The internet is ready to exhaust you then bury you if you choose to attempt to satisfy your hunger for reading within its menacing grasp. Wow. No, I didn’t become overwhelmed this morning, though there are days when I flirt with that feeling. I was not feeling so flirtatious this morning. Two articles satisfied me before the web could get it’s paws on me. One was about “holding space” with/for loved ones undergoing active bouts of mental illness – in the case of the author it was her husband’s anxiety attacks. These attacks, for me, are relatively rare anymore. I’ve learned to manage them, though not to disarm the triggers. I’m not even sure such a thing can be done, though I am certainly open to the possibility. Admittedly my triggers are feeling a little twitchy so far today. Comfort lies in the fact that I haven’t had one of those heart-crunching attacks in a long time. Yeh, little ones, and even more so attacks on a micro-level. Of course I do not know what the day will bring, but if it is relatively smooth, status quo, whatever, I will return home this afternoon, exhausted from dancing, ever so slightly, to evade the effects of these micro-triggers, and a pint and a toke will detrain me enough to also evade feeling weepy come bedtime. I don’t know for sure if I cry in my sleep but I suspect that I did last night. The struggle is real – and I do not mean that in the snarky self-satisfied way it is sometimes used in the vernacular. Soooo . . the other article was a brief discussion of new research which seems to be equating near death experiences with a ketamine trip. I dunno about that and I don’t want to get into it right now because I am going through one of those phases where I distinctly feel that I am wishing the NDE never happened. That is silly, of course. Listen, I didn’t choose to crash my bicycle that evening, nor did I choose to acquire PTSD. It just kinda sorta happened. The paranoid in me believes that someone did it to me, and there was some evidence that the paranoid is correct in that suspicion. Paranoia does not always preclude truth. But it feels to be a good day. I will have fun with it, maybe even flirt, maybe even turn the inevitable groans from my aching shoulders and arms into vocalized pratfalls – whatever that means. In the immortal words of James Tiberius Kirk – it sounds like fun.
Peace out, y’all. Goog gloriofsly.