OK, so September 11, 2001, was a Bad Day, a Really Bad Day, for Americans. So, on a scale of 1-10, with that being an 11, the last couple days for me have only been, say, a 5 or so. But on a personal scale, way higher.
Monday was pretty OK, despite that I walked into steel staging with my forehead sometime in the mid-morning and still have the proof, and had to walk my bike home because of a flat tire. I started ninja school- a Bujinkan Budo Taijitsu dojo- that evening at the park, and it was a beautiful calm evening, chilly, and with a half moon and plenty of stars overhead- very good, like an 8.
Tuesday didn't start off so well. The flat bike tire needs major surgery, and I just didn't take that very well. And then, you know, sometimes it isn't anything in particular that goes awry, but something inside you just does. I can't speak for the rest of the planet, or the country, but at least for myself and quite a few other people. Something just disconnects; I lose track of time, I forget how cool I really am, I can't talk to the people around me coherently, if at all. This happens with decreasing frequency lately, for reasons with which I will not bore readers , and which some of you already can gather, given your knowledge of what was happening in my sphere just a couple years ago, but it does happen a couple times a year, anyway, usually during spring and fall.
Anyway, it's a pretty scary place to be, and on the one hand, a person feels a need for human touch and comfort, while on the other, the same person feels monstrous enough not to want to be bothersome with those kinds of requests for closeness. Somebody show me the way out of that one?
Then, last night I woke in the middle of the night, read for a while, and suddenly this image flashed in my head, of the FFM and me getting in the car and laughing, which happens a lot, and I saw myself smiling, and I realized I was coming back, and damn, did that feel like a huge relief! I have an appointment with the Good Doctor in a little while. He has to be a good guy; he drives a 99 Saturn just like mine, but he's a doctor, for crying out loud. You know, he could be tooling around in some fat gas hog of an SUV or something. Keep your fingers crossed I bite my lip hard this time and take the medicine. And that he has something new for me to try. I'm sure I'll keep you all posted. Let me know if you start seeing supercraziness happening here that just ain't me.
So anyway, I was sitting at the table here Tuesday night, trying to compose myself and just crying like a little kid, and Patty got online back east. I haven't talked with her in months, I'm sure, but suddenly there she was, and we were chatting, for at least an hour, catching up and commiserating about the fouler vagaries of the female hormones, and that helped. So, I want to send out huge amounts of thanks and praise to some of my girlfriends who were there just to check in over the past couple days, especially Patty, who arrived like some sort of weird guardian angel in the darkest hour. Thanks also Zhenya and Joy, who occasionally helped me escape the narcissistic freak show going on in my brain by sharing their own ills (though I'm sorry you're feeling all bummy, girls); and Queen Jan, who called me back right away when I e-mailed her I might need some help, and why; and Katie, who is on the way to Chicago to see her son graduate from his first part of Navy training, and made my days a little bright by sharing her joy and anticipation.
Soon enough, I'm sure there will come a time to praise you boys, but today, girls kick ass.
Oh, happy birthday to Moby, who turns 40 today- which reminds me, I miss Rebecca. Remember that time you hitched a ride with a truck driver, and I gave you my mace? Hope you are kicking it in the sustainable world. Love your conviction.