The next time I re-locate will be the last. I hope that will be true. This move, which I took to be adventure, is becoming an never-ending nightmare.
“Nightmare” is an exaggeration. Nightmares slowly build to a crescendo, and the terror builds. This experience is different. No terror. No crescendo. Just microscopically tedious tasks, one after another…a reverse chambered-nautilus in which your existential space narrows to a nano-micrometer. I want to break free. But there’s so much still left to do before I can feel at home. Easy stuff like pictures to be re-hung. But other stuff that, in the non-handicapped world, wouldn’t seem noticeable. Things like the re-negotiation of carpet heights Still, after a decade, I have to see where my feet are. Every step “feels” like I’m tight-walking on a thousand foot cliff. I have no sensation in my feet.
Between the ridiculous of the picture-hooks, and the sublime of the carpets, I’m lost, exhausted, tired, angry, and angry about becoming angry, frustrated, sleepless, on and on and on and on!
Where is that guy who had the world on a string? The political analyst. The reporter on the frontiers of neuroscience.
He’s complaining, I guess. And he’s metamorphosing again. Blogging itself is limiting. So many choices. Do I want “readers”? Do I want to tell my life’s stories? My family’s story? Create new stories? Share research on topics that interest me? Conservative politics? Social sciences. Philosophical discourses?
This bores me! This! Exactly this indecisiveness!! I’m an old Model-T Ford, with my hand-crank stuck, puttering, stuttering, coughing black smoke.
But I’m BACK. At last, I’m back! Thank God I’m back!!
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