The Buddha Palm of Anxiety

If you’ve ever watched Kung Fu movies (or even Kill Bill), you know about the Buddha’s Palm move.  One  arcane motion at the sternum area by your opponent,  and you’re toast, basically.   So I decided to call the feeling I have every morning upon opening my eyes the Buddha Palm of Anxiety.  It feels as though the end must be near, but one breathes carefully through it, tentatively approaching coffee and the light of day.  So far, it hasn’t killed me.  A wonderful thing about living in a round space, it turns out, is the way you can turn pacing into a meditative, calming act.

So, another day.  Another list.  Sometimes there is so much to do, or it seems so,  that it is tempting to think the Palm has had its way and one is indeed about to breathe one’s last.  Still, one paw after another and before you know it, things have gotten crossed off the list.  Big things like TAXES and INVENTORY and ORDER LABELS.  Other things, like THERE WAS HOW MUCH PLUTONIUM IN THE WATER OFF JAPAN ?? and THE BOEHNER OF OUR EXISTENCE and CLEAN OUT THE STORAGE SHED AGAIN and WHAT IF THE POST OFFICE SHUTS DOWN and MONEY???!!!!???? and what, exactly to do about troubled gastrointestinal systems and the lack of adequate numbers of hours in the day and, naturally, amidoingtherightthinghere? among many others, get moved up accordingly.  Although it can seem like a snail’s pace things do get handled and deadlines get met and copy gets written and cookies get baked.  Birds get played with, clothes get washed, I discipline myself NOT to look at ANY stats for a few days (and thus not wonder what the heck kind of site might be), along with Just Saying No to all the solicitations I get to be Somebody’s Expert for only a twenty percent commission, or do radio programs for a mere $7k investment.  It’s dizzying, really.  Meanwhile we’re waiting for the ($79) delivery of the insulation materials we got at Home Depot.  It will no doubt come as absolutely no surprise, Gentle Reader, that it is supposed to rain for the next several days, starting on delivery day.  After having been almost 90 for a few days.  Oh, well.  One ballbuster project at a time, right?  One or two really good days, ten indeterminate, two or three really awful days, and so it goes.

Meanwhile there is a spot in the road on the way into town that probably needs some kind of exorcism.  We’ve now seen two really awful, awful things there.  One was the hacked up bodies of a few pheasants.  Then yesterday someone had put a dead coyote on a post.  The pheasants had probably fallen out of a truck- they were farm raised, and some terrific person was probably going to stock their land with them for noble hunting purposes.  It was horrible and I couldn’t get over it for some time.  I mean: If you hunt in order to feed yourself and your family without wasting resources, that’s one thing.  To shoot defenseless animals for, basically, an ego boost, is quite another.  Yesterday’s coyote was even beyond that.  I happen to like coyotes, having been saved by one of the four footed variety.  I think this:  If you kill all the wolves, there are no predators for the coyote.  If you have small livestock out unfenced in an area where there are coyotes something will happen. And if you don’t have such a situation, WHAT THE FREAKING DAYLIGHTS IS YOUR PROBLEM????  I think, basically, it is idiotic to curse, as it were, the kettle for being black.  The other thing I thought was THIS.  People do the same things to each other as this undeveloped human did to the coyote.   On the way back home, someone had put up a sign next to the coyote and I think a flower.  I was glad to see someone registering strong disapproval of this debased behavior, although it was not altogether clear if this was the opening salvo of a vendetta or what.  The sign, lettered in large purple block letters on a corrugated surface, read as follows:




It’s hard out there.


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