“What was the question?” – Jody Arias

Posted: March 1, 2013 in Uncategorized

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Nothing is more inconvenient than learning new things about yourself.  I’m learning just how quickly a lack of patience can lead to disassociation.  (Or disassociative inclinations, at the very least.)  Like how your first thought after a car accident can be: “This isn’t happening.”  Or how the last step after an angry dispute with a friend is deleting their phone number.  I think this pattern is especially common in the suburbs, which Bellevue, Washington used to be.  Though I must say, I hear a lot of people complain how hard it is to not disassociate in New York City, too, but it’s usually in the form of social estrangement.  And when you ask them where they think it’s happening, they usually describe the subway by way of metaphor; the most obvious urban public space where people cut themselves off by necessity.  Yes, sometimes, it does take too much time to care about the homeless man who says he’s hypoglycemic and that he can’t afford lunch.  Maybe even you, yourself, can barely afford lunch today.  Someone should actually do a study on the patterns of urban vs. suburban satisfaction and malaise.  I totally would read that, wouldn’t you?

I guess I’m trying to put out of my mind the fact that it’s already March.  There is a hibernation complexion to this condition that goes very well with the wintertime.  And the very notion of that changing is faintly frightening.  Even if I adore sunshine and look forward to taking my dogs out on long walks.

I’m also trying to forget that next Wednesday, I have a mandatory lung biopsy.  Even though the pneumonia was most definitely from the treatments, a mere bronchoscopy is not enough to test for specific cultures.  (I hate using the word “culture” in the context of something medical – yuck!)  So that’s what’s going on with that.

Feeling a little edgy today.  Edgy and wired with a kind of watered-down melancholy.  Demanding of myself, and yes, maybe of other human beings.  I need this particular chapter to end.  And not being able to instruct my body what to do the way I could four months ago has made the act of healing a job on its own.  I try to recreate in my mind’s eye what it used to mean to be in perfect health — and then remember unavoidably that I had a grandparent who believed that regardless of how old you are or how good your luck is, you will always and should always have one thing physically out of commission.  I don’t know if I believe that, but it certainly makes imagining “perfect health” difficult unless practiced with a small dose of delusion.

Most things take delusion to work, I think, don’t they?

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