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Looking Up

I told myself not to over analyze it, the weather. So far, March felt like May, April like March (how it normally is).

But I got out to Blue Mounds for a hike anyway. I wasn’t completely warm. But walking on trails in the woods helped. It was a bit more out of the north wind.

Quiet. I heard a chickadee, early on, then a woodpecker. Halfway through, it was quiiiieeet. Once in awhile I stopped to listen to muted dripping or little trickles of sopped soils draining remnants from spring thaw.

Then I headed home, stopping to pick up food, fast food. It had been months since I’ve had fast food. And it was delicious. I didn’t have to cook. Someone made it for me.

Fries! After a few bites I broke a tooth. It still confuses me, fries.

My dentist of twenty years no longer takes patients on public assistance. I was disappointed. And I haven’t found a replacement yet. But contacted someone today, after hours. That’s when I got back from my hike. Their online schedule doesn’t show any openings before my trip on the 25th.

It’s Not Always Possible

Oh yes, I was miserable for at least ten years. I remember a few years in, deciding that the company that I was partnered in was a big cause of my pain. So I left it. I was moving my mind back toward balance, and was feeling pretty decent when I lost an important relationship.

Work. Love.

My lifestyle degraded. A long struggle with digestive issues was exacerbated until everything I ate made me sick. I slept three to five hours a night for years. I didn’t go out. I slept two to three hours during daylight.

I didn’t tell people. They didn’t know. I was a magician. I hated but craved the sadness. To this day, I thought that I was addicted to depression and anxiety because it created a certain energy, prickly electricity. It was comfortable only because it was at least feeling. It was something.

Remembering that I was once a relatively happy person made me cry. The thought of hope made me cry. Music made me cry. (The thoughts about hope were troubling. Even then I wondered why I should be denied any decent feelings, especially the uplifting ones.)

I made little attempts here and there to fix myself. There were small effects, some positive. But I didn’t have any breakthroughs until about a year and a half ago.

It was after a deep trough of depression. I came up with a recipe for suicide. I’d done this in the past, but none so quick, so painless. The moment was satisfying for me. “I’ve built my door.”

Truly! I was turned almost instantly, not out of fear, but self confidence. I wrangled a difficult problem with efficiency. So I cataloged the offing process with the short list of other methods and began to snap out of it.

It wasn’t immediate. Even now I slip. But I used my “up” moments as efficiently as I could, researching, learning, trying things that would help me feel like I could, better, relaxed, confident, creative, a contributor. Each time I was “up” I implemented ways of keeping my feet, so to speak. And it was working. I was climbing steps.

Eventually I took steps to integrate with the world, even though I wasn’t really that close to being my preferred normal. I felt the urge to meet people as a practice to normalcy.

I discovered that people who consider themselves normal have a tremendous amount of struggle, known or not, affecting their entire lives.

I also discovered that true empathy might be counterproductive for my process. Understanding without taking on the emotions of another seemed to be a much healthier approach to becoming a contributor to a person, group, or society.

What I mean is to get close with a tiny bit of space between us. I must be able to make my choices from my perspective. To take on another’s feelings clouds my judgment.

Humans can understand other’s emotions without feeling them. That’s my opinion.

As far as my practice to become a more complete person, I think I’ve made great strides. By taking every “up” moment to work on my attitude, perceptions, reactions, diet, exercise, interactions, medications, worldview, self perception, I’m finding that I’m slowly increasing my “up” moments.

There are still a lot of things I’m incapable of doing, regular societal things. But I’m also trying to define why I might have issues with these tasks. Maybe I’m meant to move in another direction. You know? Maybe I’m not fully integrating with the system because I’m not fully compatible.

In the meantime I’m working on myself and my projects, looking for the opportunities that might work well for me. 🙂


I have dedicated a chapter to a sit down conversation between the captain, brusque but amiable to most, and the scientist. The doctor is definitely a quintessential self centered genius, not very likable, which he prefers.

Since they are returning home to a tragedy, the captain figures that they need to have some sort of peaceful understanding. It’s been nothing but friction since they lifted off. Even the scientist sees that the only way to perpetuate his loved project is to relent to some kind of peaceful understanding.

I’ve drafted it. I’m looking forward to coming back. It has the potential of being quite amusing.


-sigh- Well, we go on. Signed up for more aid today. Fingers crossed. It’s challenging to be really enthusiastic about things, though. I’m not sure why. Just a feeling, or lack in interest in things in general. It’s probably all about the pandemic, so my therapist might say. It’s a brave new world, socially. I’ve got four walking arrangements over the weekend, all with different people. I wonder if I’ll have culture shock?

A Day, I Guess

I’ve decided that I’ll continue.

We choose what to write, what to read.

We can choose what frames to use for the artwork we collect.

It’s funny how many out of date thoughts still hang on my walls.

No wonder

Hmmm Maybe I Should Retire

From blogging, I mean. Somehow I feel like I’ve made a mess. I appreciate those who have read my stuff, these few years. I guess I don’t want to hurt anyone. Plus, I don’t know, maybe I should focus on being a better me. That’s the goal, eh? Will see. I’ll take a few days off.

The Falling Night

Twilight makes black glass walls and towers flecked with sleepless spirits of toil lifted blocks on packed streets.

Unaccustomed to sleep, eyes half shut, rooted skyscrapers comb the haze that will become a dull soulless glow, an aura to replace the insect sought nests built from skin and soil.

Oh yes, it’s beautiful, as stories walk the endless concrete stages washed by vapors of unforgiving lamps, exposing all but color lost in last of daydream’s shouts, a sound now left to growling rods and rockets, and whispering breath from lungs deep within buildings touched by stained and cracked steps.

This, a home widens, or not, for the observer, tucked by shadow and glint of flash on the periphery of floodlights, stands now in front of a statue in his likeness, of paper carefully folded, bent, smoothed, and pressed. The image is carefully made, tightly curled fists pushing hips, stable stance, level gaze.

And in the rain, dissolves like a mint in my mouth, carried over curb, along the edges of black topped veins that sizzle with passing corpuscle over tears, as the flavor falls away through rusted grates into the abyss.