Hungry Ghost's Daily Diet (TM)

I headed to Kits pool today meaning to dunk my head, shake it around and drain out the thoughts that scurry around like spiders disturbed while spinning their web. Instead, I fell asleep, and woke up with a start to see the pscyhobanalist (no spelling error here) hovering around me. I panicked and made a mad dash to the exit and didn't dunk my head after all. So the spiders still scurry, and in an attempt to stop them, I dug into my archive of posts and found this one from April 20th, 2009. The well-bespectacled Rendak had said, "May I request a brief synopsis of where you are and how you are?", and my answer came pouring out as in the italicized text below.

When I read it now though, I have to laugh even though, at the time, laughter was far from my mind. Perspective, so important for relative sanity.


May I request a brief synopsis of where you are and how you are?"

I'm in Denver, at the Ramada Courtyard Inn - a hotel that looks as though it's under renovation with all the faux pine fittings (meant to evoke some cabin, I think) - ironically, it should be renovated. My room is huge, but to compensate, the window looks out upon the big, brightly lit-up Ramada sign. If it were only raining, and the light blinking, then I'd be living my own domestic version of Blade Runner.

Physically, I'm tired and am wandering about in a bit of a daze, but perhaps that's because I'm one mile above sea-level and am unused to the thinness of the air. Then again, maybe I'm just channeling the demeanour of the public's stereotype of the absent-minded, rumpled and somewhat dusty scientist so as not to stand out amidst my peers. Or maybe it's just because I've not had much sleep lately as I've been preparing for this trip - which I didn't want to come on at first, but now that I'm here, I'm glad I came - I think, the jury is still out. I'm also hurting in several spots - the ankle, the wrist and the shoulder, but surprisingly, the hip is fine. I am planning a rest period at which time I will heal all this - oh to be Claire Bennet who can heal - maybe a few days at a retreat of some sort? Who knows. But I'm tired of injuries and want to be whole again.

"Then I was inspired, now I'm sad and tired..." Know-ye where this cometh from?

The above describes the physical. Now for the metaphorical.

Where am I? If I were on a 14 hour red-eye flight across the Pacific, seated next to someone, who to put it bluntly, spills over the armrests, I'd be flying into Taiwanese airspace about now, with the dawn about to break, and the flight attendants about to bring out a rubbery omelet with a few tired and sponge-like slices of honeydew melon for breakfast. You're not hungry, but you eat because you're so bored sitting still concentrating on the wings to keep the plane in the air. In other words, I'm almost there, not quite there yet, but I can practically see the runway, and the air seems clear, the sun is rising, but there are very likely a few more patches of turbulence to come, and perhaps a raincloud or two around the corner, just out of sight. It's pretty clear now that the plane will make it and not crash, and were the plane in question an F-22, no missiles would be launched although the thumb sometimes still plays around the red button. But less often now.

How am I doing? From the exterior, all is well. All in the interior is well too, for the most part. There are isolated incidents when I have to slap my wrist and turn off Somewhere in Time because it leads to obsessive listening to lyrics such as "...no reason, no rhyme..." and you get the gist of it, all of which leads to the rare cloudburst - but fortunately no more deluges that last 40 days and 40 nights. Mind you, it is Spring and while it may be lovely, there is a tendency to sudden showers which may still come. Like testing a loose tooth, however, I test myself aurally, and it's okay. I can even hum along. I'm slowly reaching the conclusion again - the need for constant reminders, it's like getting booster shots for your vaccinations - that the world necessarily revolves around me, and that I shouldn't waste my time revolving around the world. In fact, I should remember that revolving around the world is particularly bad for me in a most insidious way. So it has to stop. All this revolving - so sick-making.

And like an itch which you scratch to a wound, but which eventually scabs over, so has my heart. To borrow from Dorothy Parker, my landscape is smoky from all the bridges I've burnt and I looked and asked, but what heart was that?! So yes. The itch has become a falling scab, and I look askance at the heart of hearts. I have the sudden urge to listen to Somewhere in Time again. Others may never raise white flags; nor will I, but I don't beat my head against the wall either.

Perspective is like a bucket of cold water thrown upon you during a fit. You wake up, the scales fall from your eyes and you see clearly again, and what you see sometimes amazes you, other times, it dismays you and you wonder how it was you were so short-sighted and you rush quickly to make that long overdue appointment with the eye-glass doctor to get a new prescription and frames. The sudden dash of cold water also brings your heart skidding to a stop, or at least it seems to, which accounts to much the same thing. And when the heart resumes again, it's lighter. And the burden drops somewhat, and you can breathe again without holding the air tight in your lungs for fear this will be your last breath.

So I'm breathing normally, my heart beats steadily and my eyes see clearly again. But this is not to say that the lungs and heart (so intimately connected) won't forget every now to breathe and beat every now and again, but it happens less and less often now.

Are you sorry you asked now? And if you can make sense of this, then I'll definitely have to reconsider my present line of work.