Hot Air.
Yes, I am still dealing with the mega-relapse. Migrating brain pain, etc. I need to burn my hand on a light-bulb, as this is the only thing that will kill the little rash. Every time I do this, and the rash goes away, I start feeling better. This is important scientific information. Too bad there are almost no CFS researchers who could give it a good home.
After I take the dog out, every eve around 6:pm, I settle down with a little decadent kombucha and decadent chips of some sort, plus cashews or such. It's my little party. Not much. The kombucha is almost sugar-free, and watered down. And so forth. Today, I decided I wanted a little alcohol, so I am mixing in some witch-hazel with my kombucha. Two witch-hazel bottles are about equivalent to a bottle of wine, or a little less. And, it's good for the innards. No sugar. Not a bad choice, especially if nothing else is around. Just want a little buzz and maybe a movie I've seen 10 times before. (Btw - My decision to do witch-hazel tonight had nothing to do with an LJ comment regarding Sister Hazel).
So, there is this house next-door. It's gone from hand to hand. Every 6 months, a new crop of derelict trouble-makers would move in. When I had to, I held my own against some of these transients and, a week or two later, they'd move out. A-hole kept informing every new tenant, and those of the house around my corner, that I was a terrible evil person. This was my early introduction to Critical Race Theory, I suppose. Anyway, the result was constant trouble. Not something I myself go out looking for, since I have CFS.
After I yelled at one jackass who was intimidating me, (by screaming but not talking), "What's the matter, don't you talk to white people?!" - well, after I did that, A-hole Guy moved a bunch of white people into the corner house, proceeding to butter them up, now, and telling them how evil I was. (One reason he does this is because he wants to OWN everyone and everything around here, telling people he even owns THIS house). Those white people told a relative about the house next door, which he bought, and fixed up, a little, with his new friend, A-hole Guy.
They put a sign up to sell the house a LONG time ago. It finally came down - and in moves that white guy. Said white guy thinks I am evil, and has walked through this property, glared at me and spit, and so on. Now he is living next-door, in the house he couldn't sell. (I still have the phone number - I should call now, asking to buy it...)
In earlier years, everybody knew the times I would take my dog out, and many of them would be out at those times, trying to intimidate me, or show off, or demoralise me, because that is how this place is. NOW, white guy, whom I have referred to, in the past, as, "Skunk Face," because he truly looks like a skunk, is outside, at 6:pm, as I am taking my dog out. What's he doing? He's got a remote control, running a flat little car thing up and down the sidewalk, and over the grass, trying to drive my dog crazy. Almost succeeding.
After a bit, I sat down with dog on my steps, and asserted, to him, that this was a car - (not a cat, or something). Poor animals, have to learn the connexion between remote controls and something skirting around the neighbourhood. Between me talking into a phone and me talking to him, or just being crazy. Between reality and all sorts of technology. Meanwhile, some black girl is walking up the sidewalk, laughing with Skunk Face, turning the corner, blathering on her phone, and my dog is now alert to her, because he thinks she is talking to us. It's a crime, I'm telling you.
My only response to this antic by Skunk Face, because it's a free country, was, "Some people never grow up."
I commandeered my dog inside, fairly expertly, and when we were back upstairs, I looked out a window. Why? Because if Skunk face ALSO went right back into his house, it supports the hypothesis that Skunk face's whole purpose for pulling this stunt was to mess with me and my dog. Sure enough, he had gone inside. I was ready to throw a cherry bomm out another window, but everything, always, in time...
A-hole Guy has been attacking me, largely because he envies or fears my dog. He has regarded my dog with such hate, it's unbelievable. To see blacks acting like the very oppressors - the crackers - the haters - they claim to want to ameliorate, somehow, has been astonishing to me. A poor, helpless dog, who should be running around in fields and forests. For 2-3 years, A-hole Guy would come out and shout at me because, according to him, my dog was slightly mucking up the mulch he had stupidly piled around the locust tree. My dog never did that. I have called the police about this, and still he does it. Do you want to know who is mucking up the mulch? The wind. And the man downstairs, who wants to see A-hole Guy yell at me. Welcome to fucking Illinois. Determined to eat itself alive.
So, for this reason, my dog is evil. For this reason, Skunk Face has tried to intimidate me and my dog. All based on the lies of blathering idiots. This town - these days - are proof that humans have never evolved from being a rabble of animal riffraff. We step precariously over the bones of our slaughter, aiming to get another meal, amidst the cries and squeels of something even hell would cast out. Vainglorious man, you are only the footprint of divinity, bound off to better prospects.
The Past stands intrepid and unassailable, as the first and final testament to none but loss and failure.
Somewhat related: We are all stuck in imperfect situations. Imperfect husband. Imperfect neighbourhood. Unattained dreams. Stupid rigid family power structures. Blind and dogged habit. Drudgery. Regrets.
I think of all of us - all humans - as caught and trapped in this life of imperfection like the stone corpses smothered by Vesuvius, eons ago. That's how this life is, most of the time, when push comes to shoves - frozen in rock, paralyzed. But, it's more lie we are visible through amber or even glass, hands stretched out to nearly grasp those of our children, dangling forever in their own trap. Perfect-picture families, caught forever like ancient insects, completely restrained and future-less. Life can feel like this.
But, there's nothing wrong with imperfection. captured forever in glass? Is there anything, really, much more, or better? Look at the dirt you walk on. Body ash of dinosaurs. Look at the air you breath. Words of Socrates dispersed and lost. Look at the tombstones. ground down by a hundred years of casual elements.
There's really nothing more than right now.
After I take the dog out, every eve around 6:pm, I settle down with a little decadent kombucha and decadent chips of some sort, plus cashews or such. It's my little party. Not much. The kombucha is almost sugar-free, and watered down. And so forth. Today, I decided I wanted a little alcohol, so I am mixing in some witch-hazel with my kombucha. Two witch-hazel bottles are about equivalent to a bottle of wine, or a little less. And, it's good for the innards. No sugar. Not a bad choice, especially if nothing else is around. Just want a little buzz and maybe a movie I've seen 10 times before. (Btw - My decision to do witch-hazel tonight had nothing to do with an LJ comment regarding Sister Hazel).
So, there is this house next-door. It's gone from hand to hand. Every 6 months, a new crop of derelict trouble-makers would move in. When I had to, I held my own against some of these transients and, a week or two later, they'd move out. A-hole kept informing every new tenant, and those of the house around my corner, that I was a terrible evil person. This was my early introduction to Critical Race Theory, I suppose. Anyway, the result was constant trouble. Not something I myself go out looking for, since I have CFS.
After I yelled at one jackass who was intimidating me, (by screaming but not talking), "What's the matter, don't you talk to white people?!" - well, after I did that, A-hole Guy moved a bunch of white people into the corner house, proceeding to butter them up, now, and telling them how evil I was. (One reason he does this is because he wants to OWN everyone and everything around here, telling people he even owns THIS house). Those white people told a relative about the house next door, which he bought, and fixed up, a little, with his new friend, A-hole Guy.
They put a sign up to sell the house a LONG time ago. It finally came down - and in moves that white guy. Said white guy thinks I am evil, and has walked through this property, glared at me and spit, and so on. Now he is living next-door, in the house he couldn't sell. (I still have the phone number - I should call now, asking to buy it...)
In earlier years, everybody knew the times I would take my dog out, and many of them would be out at those times, trying to intimidate me, or show off, or demoralise me, because that is how this place is. NOW, white guy, whom I have referred to, in the past, as, "Skunk Face," because he truly looks like a skunk, is outside, at 6:pm, as I am taking my dog out. What's he doing? He's got a remote control, running a flat little car thing up and down the sidewalk, and over the grass, trying to drive my dog crazy. Almost succeeding.
After a bit, I sat down with dog on my steps, and asserted, to him, that this was a car - (not a cat, or something). Poor animals, have to learn the connexion between remote controls and something skirting around the neighbourhood. Between me talking into a phone and me talking to him, or just being crazy. Between reality and all sorts of technology. Meanwhile, some black girl is walking up the sidewalk, laughing with Skunk Face, turning the corner, blathering on her phone, and my dog is now alert to her, because he thinks she is talking to us. It's a crime, I'm telling you.
My only response to this antic by Skunk Face, because it's a free country, was, "Some people never grow up."
I commandeered my dog inside, fairly expertly, and when we were back upstairs, I looked out a window. Why? Because if Skunk face ALSO went right back into his house, it supports the hypothesis that Skunk face's whole purpose for pulling this stunt was to mess with me and my dog. Sure enough, he had gone inside. I was ready to throw a cherry bomm out another window, but everything, always, in time...
A-hole Guy has been attacking me, largely because he envies or fears my dog. He has regarded my dog with such hate, it's unbelievable. To see blacks acting like the very oppressors - the crackers - the haters - they claim to want to ameliorate, somehow, has been astonishing to me. A poor, helpless dog, who should be running around in fields and forests. For 2-3 years, A-hole Guy would come out and shout at me because, according to him, my dog was slightly mucking up the mulch he had stupidly piled around the locust tree. My dog never did that. I have called the police about this, and still he does it. Do you want to know who is mucking up the mulch? The wind. And the man downstairs, who wants to see A-hole Guy yell at me. Welcome to fucking Illinois. Determined to eat itself alive.
So, for this reason, my dog is evil. For this reason, Skunk Face has tried to intimidate me and my dog. All based on the lies of blathering idiots. This town - these days - are proof that humans have never evolved from being a rabble of animal riffraff. We step precariously over the bones of our slaughter, aiming to get another meal, amidst the cries and squeels of something even hell would cast out. Vainglorious man, you are only the footprint of divinity, bound off to better prospects.
The Past stands intrepid and unassailable, as the first and final testament to none but loss and failure.
Somewhat related: We are all stuck in imperfect situations. Imperfect husband. Imperfect neighbourhood. Unattained dreams. Stupid rigid family power structures. Blind and dogged habit. Drudgery. Regrets.
I think of all of us - all humans - as caught and trapped in this life of imperfection like the stone corpses smothered by Vesuvius, eons ago. That's how this life is, most of the time, when push comes to shoves - frozen in rock, paralyzed. But, it's more lie we are visible through amber or even glass, hands stretched out to nearly grasp those of our children, dangling forever in their own trap. Perfect-picture families, caught forever like ancient insects, completely restrained and future-less. Life can feel like this.
But, there's nothing wrong with imperfection. captured forever in glass? Is there anything, really, much more, or better? Look at the dirt you walk on. Body ash of dinosaurs. Look at the air you breath. Words of Socrates dispersed and lost. Look at the tombstones. ground down by a hundred years of casual elements.
There's really nothing more than right now.