I’m returning more to what is considered a day-to-day normal. That is I don’t look around me in a degree of oddness as if things don’t quite fit. That they don’t fit is not the issue, and in fact nothing is at issue. The only practical question would not be what but why. But that is a gift of age: that we quit asking why.
Those first nights in rehab when I couldn’t move, go anywhere, made more of an impression on me than I thought. You become that. And I had to live on the surface, in the center of my mind. Any of the edges would have entrapped me and they were many and dark. Interesting that I didn’t pray. And I didn’t invoke The Buddha, or The Christ, or even “the guys.” But then I didn’t seek help. I sought nothing. And then, for a while I became someone else.
…of things. As Pessoa said he was always. So it was for me today, and my view was distant as I walked through the morning events.
I had to take the cat back to the vet’s as he’s passing blood and pretty much peeing wherever he is. Not fun for either of us. This is the new rescue cat, Zeus, whom you have not heard about from me but likely will later. In any case, he got quite ill and was hospitalized so all of the current happenings are just the aftermath. I brought him home on Saturday. Now for today:
The med tech greeted us by calling my beautiful, handsome Bengal cat “Zoosie-Woosie.” And referred to us as an us for everything including how him was feeling for us. (Not even annoying, just observing from that very safe distance.)
After the vet’s, I took us through a Starbucks so I could get a mocha cafe = indulge, indulge.
Me: I’ll have a large mocha cafe, please.
A male-type person standing outside taking orders: One large mocha cafe. So are we hot or cold today?
Me: Pardon? (I have no idea what he is talking about.)
He: Hot or cold?
Me: Just staring blankly as I have no understanding and might have landed on another planet. Perhaps I went through a portal on my way to the outer world.
He: The drink. Do you want it hot or cold?
Me: Hot. (Maybe this is normal and I just don’t get out enough to understand the ways of the world. And here I was beginning to consider my body temperature to see if I was on the warm or cool side, heading to something more extreme.)
The cat himself has joined in this weird conspiracy by imitating the singing and dancing frog. He is normally incredibly vocal. He has a variety of sounds which I can usually decipher. If I’m not responding correctly or immediately, he will get louder and louder. Not only that, but he says actual words such as “Ma!” and “ouch!”. But not in the world. In the world he becomes mute. He says nothing. Not a cry, not a whimper. They think he does not complain and that I am exaggerating.
It’s all right. It’s all totally all right. It’s just a good day to get home and stay there.
Posted by Poetic Outlaws
“Most people learn to save themselves by artificially limiting the content of consciousness.” Thomas Ligotti
Fabulous moon, wherein we draw in the feminine, this—this gives us life. Oh to be born during the night. To yowl first screams before the dawn. To sing of the hoof traces left panting and bloody in the snow.
Writers Ink—Writing and Stuff 