Mad World
When people run in circles, its a very,very Mad world
I know, I know…we are not supposed to be surprised by whatever happens these days politically, socially. We are though. I am.
It was a shock that a very nice considerate man I am acquainted with is now a full-on raging, drunk the Kool-Aid maga.
I know better than to even comment or give my opinion because these people are so righteous in their anger, their condemnations, their beliefs.
They cannot be reasoned with. They insist on the facts, the videos, the links to news stories then dismiss them out of hand as AI generated or fake news.
I tried, I then decided that it was time wasted and I am moving on. But sad just the same, and a little surprised at completely different person I saw in his FB reels. Rage, Rage Rage. It is the fashion these days.
Meanwhile here I sit at 2:37 AM with a plate of hot buttered toast and cold water in my bottle still trying to make sense of hatred and cruelty.
But I finally learned to hate. It is hatred of what one bilious, bloated psychopath has done. What vermin and slugs have slimed out from under rocks to put words in his mouth and action to his wet dreams and theirs.
I tried like all the others who are immune to their slick and greasy charm to figure out the whys and how did we get here. But that time is now past. We cannot autopsy their feeble brains and their crazed antics. We can only find ways to counteract their terrorism and realize that it is up to us to do the hard work to retrieve our democracy and rebuild it to be stronger.
I say these things because I believe we are better, and there are more of us and like many around me and before me, I have found I hold way more power than I ever knew.
Yet I am still doing stupid stuff, unintentionally. From burning two baking sheets of roasting pumpkin seeds to forgetting stamps on cards sent. As I watch myself become older, I am struck at my occasional lapses of memory.
I worry it like a tiny dog with a large bone.
My mother died from complications of dementia. Her father and stepmother too.
Is it my fate to erode into a staring, wheelchair bound elder who has to be helped in every way? Or will I somehow evade that sentence and be more like my late dad who was mentally sharp to the very end, his body having not kept up with his wit.
They say lack of sleep is bad for the brain and I wonder if that is why I am so discomfited and becoming more feral in word and action. I am literally here at my table, on my laptop at now 2:58 AM and not the least bit tired. But I did sleep in my easy chair for a while this evening.
I have days where I do a lot of things and then days where I get absolutely nothing done.
As someone who has suffered depression my whole life, I think I am in the throes of a different type of depression and I am finding myself ill-equipped to deal with it in a consistent manner.
I get a lot of advice, but I bristle at it. I am now so wild that I refuse to take advice. I fight it, I rail against it verbally. I refuse the mere idea of medical intervention.
My dreams are filled with visits of my dad and my late husband, sometimes my mom and my brother. I wake up from these not understanding anything.
I dream of running away. Well, honestly, I don’t run but I would disappear to an isolated place where I am absolutely alone. The urge to just disappear is so strong that I will spend hours trying to figure out a way to get away. I should say a way to afford to get away.
There was a time when I took my dog and a sleeping bag, quit my pea-pickin job and would go to the desert in my old VW bug. I never stayed long. I just needed to know I could leave.
When I was a little girl, dad fenced in the back yard for me to have a safe place to play. According to legend, I screamed bloody murder until he opened the gate. I didn’t leave the yard; I just wanted to know I could leave the yard.
So, I am a fake leaver. I just want to be able to go but I like my home.
I miss having a dog. The cats are here but I miss a dog. I spent some time looking at rescue adoption sites. Tomorrow I am going to take myself to a county animal service to see a few dogs. I really expected I would get another German Shepherd dog, but I saw two senior dogs, and they are tiny Chihuahuas. I figure in one of my planned mad dashes to wilderness or to the park down the road I could take a wee dog and have company.
Again, I mentioned this and I got an uproar from many. No don’t get a dog now, wait until you move! But if it fits, I will do the deed and have me a wee buddy to maybe keep the wild me saner.
I am seriously feeling like I have reverted to a very wild minded sort. Is it the time of year? Am I responding to the thinning of the veil? Can I do an Outlander style of stepping into another time or place?
Why did I feel like screaming, howling at the last moon? Why do I bundle up and go out into the frigid night and stare at the stars until I am dizzy?
Yes, I am feral and getting more so. I hope I don’t bite anyone…….
Respect. Peace to you.