Some of you are going to want to know if there really was a part one so I will answer your question with a link to part one.
I was fired up when I started writing the post from last night called Flotsam & Jetsam.
Got irked by something I thought someone had done and almost let loose but writing took the edge off because as I started to wander through the woods of internal memories I realized I had to let it go.
Didn’t matter if I was right or wrong, not my monkeys, not my circus.
Doesn’t mean it was easy and it doesn’t mean I didn’t take some of that ire and cross enemy lines to go slap a bunch of Tiktok grads, privileged white knuckleheads and wannabe jihadists around.
Anger is a funny thing for me in the sense that if you mistreat me I rarely forget and often don’t forgive. But there are the few where that doesn’t apply in the way I would expect it to.
I have learned to pay attention to that and to see how it plays out. I used to try to control it because it scared me a bit, but I don’t let the fear direct me anymore.
Haven’t done so for quite a long time and so I do my best to roll with it all and see where the sails take me on my adventures.
Doesn’t mean I give up free will because I haven’t but I also understand that magic requires trust and faith in it.
So I choose to believe good things come because I open myself to possibility and opportunity. And because I work to sail towards them, that is the key here.
Faith and trust doesn’t mean you don’t have to actively work towards your goals.
Some of my fans have found pictures of me and tried to insult me. I snorted when one grabbed this photo and said I looked awful. Took that selfie after I had been taken by the paramedics to the hospital.
That is me after limited sleep, two transfusions and two full nights in the hospital or maybe it was three.
That is me after I finished wrestling the Malach Havmavet, the Angel of Death. If I looked great it would be a huge shock, I have two IVs in me and all sorts of other devices attached to me.
I think that might have been after my blood work came back as having contracted some bug so they stuck me on heavy doses of antibiotics. I told the infectious disease doc that I wasn’t worried about sepsis or anything else.
He said I should be and I said my blood was too sour for whatever had chosen to grab on. I said I was too nasty, too grumpy and too mean.
And I meant it, I was tired of being poked and prodded every twenty minutes. I was tired of the phlebotomists coming every 30 minutes to stick needles in my hands. I was tired of having to drag equipment with me so I could go shake the weasel.
And I was irked to have found out that getting that much liquid pumped into you meant you never stop urinating.
I think about it now and it makes perfect sense to me that it happens, but I had never had reason to consider it before.
And with that we end with a quote from The Phantom Tollbooth. I saw the movie when I was around 6.
Mom dropped me off at my elementary school and I walked into the auditorium holding a yellow ticket and took a seat there. I remember it as a wonderful experience.
“Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven’t the answer to a question you’ve been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you’re alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.”
― Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth
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