there's something like extinction numbness. extinction is impossible to grasp. it's for dinosaurs or creatures who just couldn't make the grade in the exciting and fast paced new world order. no one can think of their own extinction. it's ludicrous. but nevertheless some of us are going extinct even now in this news cycle. some don't warrant obituaries. and some are known mostly by the evil they did in the extinction news cycle of yesterday.
here's a mess of pictures of fiona, comet, hilde, toby, and incidental humans. i'm too tired to edit or tell the story, i'm about too tired to blog. fiona gave my heart a tug as all bostonian dogs do. i think of fen the angel space monkey, sigh. comet gave fiona a dressing down and she skittered off hunched with hackles up, but came right around and comet too. i overreacted a little but fiona's da said it's ok she's gotta learn to socialize. her brother toby the gentle giant shepherd just calmly lifts her in his mouth by the scruff, or lays a paw on her to hold her still. in a few minutes everybody is happy.
on the way back carol asks how are you, looking toward mister, i know that's a throwaway line, but i seize it and say pretty good, i cleaned the swamp today and she says precisely nothing, so i elaborate, thinking she may have been groaning inwardly at another swamp metaphor, i picked up a bag of garbage, i say, i hate to see the little swamp trashy, it's mister's watering hole, then i look at the crummy model yacht pond behind her and her dog lucy scavenging, and finally she says, there's a swamp? she usually doesn't cross the bridge, and i think i've never seen them at the lake yards away, and anyway many people never see the swamp who pass by regularly, they may as well be commuting on l.s.d., and it always occurs to me many people see all outdoor space as a commute from their passing windows and are surprised by the notion there's a swamp there.
but we did something right today no one may notice. but you don't do it for notice, do you. someone will notice and not know it was you, or anyone. we cleaned the swamp because that's the way it would be on it's own, the way it should be. we clean it because it needs cleaning, and we need cleaning, and we need to meditate cleaning by cleaning. it should be so easy to cleanse the mind that fills again with the same things tossed aside from passersby, in cars, from childhood on, borne on the ceaseless wind.
it was the feeling i would do wrong, had done wrong, though i didn't learn from my mistake,
it was the feeling i didn't learn how to do right, it was the wrong feeling, the feeling if i kept silent, the feeling would pass, and i would do right today.
a skullcap for me found on the and a beanie for mister. found yesterday and today. a little protection for the head, yet, relapse anxiety. the anxiety comes and brings the relapse. relapse childhood. in the head, hood, always there. i read little panic, ha, does that bring it on? a little panic goes a long long way. i bring it on, i put it on, my own and mister's head, too? relapse. childhood. trouble being there. trouble being anywhere.
the air in my ears is tight as a drum.
i was glum last night and glum this morning. i took two dramamills to sleep. glum and groggy. i have five walks ahead and have to get out early. i feel bad about being glum for r. i go into a semi-catatonic state. i must pull myself out. i wonder where you get the resources to fend off these states in the first place.
my feet are still peeling. i'm a little afraid of a relapse. i would be alone this time, as r. has to go to skokie. another thing making me glum: the time of illness, and the time now looming, of apartness.
the fixer of the president, and what an evil farce anyway, that such arch criminals can lead the behemoth corporation america., the fix is in, the fixer says there will be a coup on america if the president is voted out, little doubt, there will be a coup, there has been a coup, there is a coup now.
i'm sorry r. it's not that i don't care. i get stuck in place, i have a hard time being there .
love- d.
