Thursday, March 22, 2007

Laudanum, Love

I'm missing it a bit lately...those halcyon days - and nights - of sonambolism. There is too much going on and I cannot seem to find enough rest. It's all foolishness, of course. I've a ton of guilt, anger, and sadness going on about how I left my finely carved body behind in GA so many months ago. I had forgotten that mental exercise wheel where you constantly hear the echo of the self-loathing. "Doesn't fit...what's it matter...who cares...fuck em all...God, you look like shit..." I think men must not have it or maybe their inner voice says something different.

I should have been upstairs getting back on track tonight. Instead, I had to play catchup on work which ate into the grocery shopping time which then trounced all over the exercise hour until I came home hungry, tired and utterly sick of email inboxes, meeting requests and the like.

Oh, yes - it's a lovely rationalization! I know it. I am quite clear on that point. But...I wonder, distantly, if that dark melancholy is reaching out again. I address the matter rather scientifically rather than emotionally, now. I question myself - is it real or is it just the rainy weather? Is it the music or the endorphin loss? Am I dwelling and drawing it in or just eyeing it on the horizon? And I do ache to feed it, of course.

I am a natural depressive. Never sought out the speed, never the hyper. No, that was not my bane. No, it was the slow...the dulled and the quiet that I sought out. Mindlessness wherein there was no pain or worry. And perhaps that is it - too many concerns right now and I am trying to wend my way back to that womblike security. Hmm. Well, regardless, it's not possible. Not only is it Not Allowed, I don't think I shall give in to it anymore. It is a weakness. Not only physical and mental but also of character.

But then...maybe it was the carnage of a Scorpio woman, I am deeply drawn to the dark things of life, to an understanding of them - of death and pain and lust and the like. It's all one, sometimes. But there was on Monday a horrific scene of death that he had to deal with. Home, late, he related the details that he felt reasonable. But the next day he had to get photos of the poor soul. The issued 35mm wasn't a nice SLR and he needed help. I volunteered. And took the digital. Heh..yes...

Suffice to say the young man was not whole after his final experience. But I sat on the old sofa in the small town funeral home and watched the process - the large freezer holding the table on rolling wheels - the table that held him - what there was left, anyway. The gentleman rolled it out with respect, unzipping that black bag with care and folding back the standard tarp just like you might use to gather autumn leaves or cover your woodpile...the blue tarp was bright color in an otherwise dull world. I could not see the entire...affair. And strove not to as he dealt with the photos and making his own notations about condition and the like. But the face...faced me. And the arm, awkwardly akimbo like a GI Joe who had a few too many war wounds. It wasn't - there was no one home. Does that make sense? Unanimated. Entirely bereft - oh, and that is the word, is it not?

It could apply, too, to his now utterly bereft young wife. She waited outside along with the extended family, her own parents recently gone, his parents so obvious in their similar appearance to the lost. He continued his work as I assiduously avoided rising - no, best to keep eyes at table edge level and avoid the worst of it. Only a flicker now and then of what one would not want to consider. But I thought to myself - no reason to put a picture in my mind if it was not necessary. I think too often kids today and their torture porn movies place inside sights that are...not right. Not healthy. It's not like the old mummy movies. Our monsters were never human back then, were they? But now? They are ALL human - just like us except capable of so much worse.

I left that horror in that room and we went back out into the overcast world where a kind wind blew away any remnant of the experience. And he went to that huddled group to explain to all who would know what lay behind those brick walls. I did not need to know more.

And so perhaps that is the link...that is the yearning for the sleep and forgetfulness. But the inner dialogue has to be stopped. The battle will be skewed otherwise. I will not win. And I'll be damned if I'll settle for what Is. Not when I know What Can Be. Not when my body softly sings from a corner what it knows is Possible.

Meanwhile, all of you out there, drive careful. I mean that most sincerely.

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