Think of your head as an unsafe neighborhood; don’t go there alone. (A. Borroughs)
My bed is so crowded with a jumble of thoughts that there is no room for me to find a comfortable nest amidst the tousled bedcovers. As a result, my head takes up such an inordinate amount of bed-space that my legs are twisted and twitchy and complaining, wanting more room.
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Have you ever named your Shadow? You know, the one who gets hooked and snagged on edges of things like a doorknob or other people’s opinions? You have to hold her maybe closer than you’d like because she has a tendency to flap and flop about in the most annoying ways, making it well-nigh impossible for you not to be seen when you’d prefer to remain unnoticed. Mine has told me her name is YummyGas, an acronym for “You have obviously Mistaken Me for someone who Gives a S*^.”
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To be abandoned on top of an advanced ski slope when I can’t ski impresses me as a heinous deed indeed. Surely not an isolated event. But maybe he enjoyed the peace and quiet.
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I dance so eloquently about the point that by the time I am ready to make it, I have forgotten what it is.
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Have you ever been asked your opinion in a group of people and you have a snowy second when you can’t even remember your own name? Those “snowy seconds” are becoming more frequent, I find. Anti-allergy medication-miasma or advancing years, I wonder . . .
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Lightning struck while I was on the toilet this morning and I realized Aristotle was a sarcastic sucker. Daring to suggest that my finer self is truly who I am, while my lesser virtues are caused by outer circumstances — humph. My hyper-sensitive-sarcasm odometer was on alert. But I do want my way. Particularly in the springtime.
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“Oh, really,” I say.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“How interesting,” I murmur.
“H’mmm.”
Maybe, Mr. ASOB-TV-Commentator, I’m thinking, l should no longer let you take advantage of my good nature by listening to your ill-informed opinions and endless rhetoric.
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Ah, Resentment, my old friend . . . . I have to talk to you again . . . Slights, insults, judgments, narcissistic preoccupations . . . You see them all, because you pay attention. Pay less attention, my friend, or maybe, better yet . . . Have the courageous optimism of a Maya Angelou who suggests “do not be reduced by them.”
You are so very blessed.