Archive for the ‘Perhaps Losing My Mind’ Category

Towel, In Process of Being Thrown

The Partner is laughing uncontrollably right now.  Bullet train from LA to San Francisco is the cause.   The cost of it, the inflated contractor bids, atop the current California budget deficit.  To a backdrop of schools being closed and prisons being farmed out to the highest bidder.  THEN he starts talking about the next election, 2012 (OMG how did I miss THAT) and the very great probability that the Republican Party will come out of the box with lots and lots of cash.  He thinks Dick Cheney will be the next President.  This was after he read me an article about Modoc County that made me scream, about how people up there think the budget cuts should be in areas of environmental oversight.  Finally I had to tell him to Shut Up.    We briefly then fantasized about what the impact might be if there were a disease  manifested by an uncontrollable movement of the arm and fist up into the air while the other arm would be compelled to slap down on the rising inner elbow.  Fangiullo-ITIS, perhaps? Although my Italian spelling is not so good.

I was already in high dudgeon, Gentle Reader.  In virtually the same week, one of my two credit card companies mailed me two disturbing envelopes.   One said they were tripling, basically, the minimum payment on my card.  Just like that.  The other, addressed to MR. (boozilla), offered me another one of their cards for my business.  Pardon me, but WTF.  I called them to research the possibilities of avoiding trainwreck, and was greeted with a bland banality that reminded me of Hannah Arendt’s definition of evil.  These are trying economic times, the guy said. No poo poo Sherlock, I said.  They’re way more than doubling the payment, aren’t they? he said.  The bank isn’t trying to push people into default, he said.  No? I said.  It sure looks like it.  ‘Splain to me what they ARE doing, if that isn’t it.  They need a few more tax deductions?   As an Attempted Small Business Owner, where just exactly is the support for MY infrastructure?  Blah blah blah. The bank doesn’t have any other programs to address this right now, he said.  We’ll skip the part about him telling me what a long time highly important and valued customer I am.  If you don’t mind.  So this was bad news, in short.  Then to get a solicitation addressed to MR!!! Dammit.  A lovely little sexist ohyouaren’taman? Invite for me to sign up with them for another bendover.  With “lifetime rewards”.  I think I’ll pass.  And yes, I’ll go last.  And time will tell, just who has fell, and who’s been left behind, when you go your way and I go mine.  How did Bob Dylan know?

It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time

Words we live by, Gentle Reader. Although the explanation for some of the things that seemed like good ideas at some time is often rendered in advanced shellfish, so we really Don’t Get It At All even after the fact.

It’s hot again. HOT. Too hot to really do anything, although the garden is calling, saying, quite clearly, WEED ME…perhaps later. But our small and active mind is pondering communication at present. Or lack thereof.

I am the kind of person who can be at the grocery store and know what everyone in line is thinking. This goes along with, see advanced shellfish above, sometimes a total inability to divine what the person right in front of me, talking to me, is really meaning in what they are saying. Probably that has to do with my vintage coping mechanism kit. I thought I had left that behind…..But I have been noticing that when there is a disconnect somewhere between the words coming out of someone’s mouth and the feeling state that is coming along with the transmission, I get, actually, nauseous. And nervous. Yeugh, in short. It has to do with feeling the feeling strongly and getting, perhaps, a bit overwhelmed by it. Especially since usually the words coming along with the feeling are quite different in meaning. Confused, is what I get.

How does one get on the same page again? This is my question. Perhaps those uncomfortable feeling states are an inescapable part of life, not to be denied, and not to be wallowed in. To be observed and learned from. There certainly seem to be quite a few of them, I’m just saying. And, naturally, there are the other feeling states, all kinds of them, all colors and degrees and temperatures, and the same thing applies. There’s excrement and there’re roses. Intertwined and of a piece in the big picture. Everything moves and shifts, and while at times that is exhilarating- when you are in the flow of it and aware– keeping one’s balance is a neat trick. Apparently, being an old dog, it’s one I’m still working on. Along with all the other dogs, young and old, on earth, of course. If this was all so easy, Darfur wouldn’t exist, Khameini would be drinking tea quietly and enjoying his advanced age, wisdom and lovely garden, people would drive properly, and…well. I think you get the picture, Gentle Reader.

On to weeding the garden. That, at least, is clear.

The Arms of Morpheus

Boy, do I miss THEM. I had a rough few days last week, and once again it took me a while to figure out why, exactly. But! It was the usual reason: No sleep. Which was, at least, better than it being because I finally went completely bananas, which was my first thought.

I have never lived any place like this before, and I must say I hope I don’t again. Ever. It isn’t just the constant fire engines and airport flight path fun and jet engine testing at 2:30 am; you can get used to that. Or the trains that run some nights from 11 pm to 4 am, blasting their horns. Something kind of romantic about that.

No. It’s the Neighbors. I haven’t discussed the Guy Behind Us because, well: He screwed up one time too many with me and finally lost the battle. So aside from occasional paint blistering belches of fish sauce and kim chee at midnight from his kitchen it hasn’t been like before. When he was “remodeling” the property. With a hammer. He put a roof on and used a manual hammer for the entire job. It took months and of course always transpired before 7 am, on weekends, on holidays (Christmas!). Recently, however, he’s been alot of fun. I was in our backyard and saw flames through the fence. Flames. Is anyone there? I said. Silence. Honey? I said. Call the fire department right now. Then Mr. Neighbor said, it’s my barbeque. Right. Under a tree, a several foot long trench of foot high flame. A Barbeque.

The other neighbors are not much better. Seven a.m. here takes place on a planet where time has no meaning. I used to transcribe witness interviews for the County Public Defender, and sometimes for extra fun the interviewers would drop their pencils right by the mic. It sounded like a steel beam being dropped from a great height. This is what every morning sounds like around here, and it seems to me to be…unnecessary. Somehow. But alot of things seem unnecessary to me, and most of them revolve around people not paying attention, and not paying attention to each other and what’s around them.

I’ve been thinking about the concept of Do No Harm. Given that something gets roughed up no matter what you do, it behooves us to be careful. And we can be careful about what we think, and say, and do. We are, as they say, Not Alone.