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"Still defying fortune's spite; revive from ashes and rise." |
| ((The Music)) This was one of my favorite songs when I was a little girl twirling around the room because just plain walking was a bore. Gene Wilder does an excellent job with this song, creating an atmosphere that closes "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" with a touch of whimsy. Is there really any place better than a world of pure imagination? Or is that just me? ((The Life)) I'm alive, and I'm back. The family is doing better, although the edges are still pretty frayed. Dealing with the emergencies and intricacies of family is like running through a maze blindfolded and a pack of hounds nipping at your heels. There are many wrong turns, but once you run through the damn thing a few times, its okay. My writing has taken a hit on all fronts. I'm so behind (surprise, surprise) I can't stand it. For the past couple of days I've been forcing myself to write for at least fifteen minutes a day even though I'm dead tired at the end of the day. It's my way of kicking my own ass. I need to wake up. I need to sink back into my imagination again. It was brought to me a couple days ago that I haven't been myself for a couple of months now. My father, the sensitive man that he is, (he tries, that's what counts) sent me an article about an ultra-endurance cyclist from Slovenia. Jure, a former soldier, is the highest ranking cyclist when it comes to traveling cross-country on his bike. The man, in training alone, cycles the circumference of the planet once a year. The kicker: he loses his mind before each game. A cyclist will go through a grueling process of losing feeling in his thumbs and limbs, severe stomach cramps from the amount of calories he burns riding without eating, and mental hallucinations. Jure believes that the Taliban is on the side of the road ready to attack him or that his crew mates are sleeping with his wife. His leader of his crew doesn't try to dissuade him. He'll go along with whatever Jure is saying, and push him to continue. The cyclist will be in the midst of a deep mental breakdown, his body limp from exhaustion, and he'll push through it all to finish the race. My father, bless his soul, said that Jure reminded him of me. While I haven't been on a standard bike in quite some time, and will probably never circumnavigate the globe, I understand what my pater was saying. And it scares the crap out of me. What do you do with something like that? Yeah, I've finish something if it kills me and everyone around me. Yes, I can take on more than would be considered mentally healthy. Sure, my family and their lovely doses of drama may one day send me over the edge. But when did it get to the point of insanity is my fallback position? When did I stop bouncing back? The day I watched my friend take her last breath on this earth. I haven't been the same. I may never be the exact person I once was at the beginning of the year. But I'm trying to get back to some place of substance, a place of familiar ground. I want to be at peace. A gut feeling tells me I'll find some of it in Ireland. Yesterday I handed in my check. My spot is saved. There is no refund. I'm committed like a pig is to breakfast. (An anthropology joke I heard from my professor. What's the difference between a pig and chicken when it comes to making huevos chorizo? The chicken makes a contribution - giving a couple of her eggs . The pig makes a commitment - offering itself as the meal. Morbid but effective.) Where it goes from there is anyone's guess. So here's to me, embracing the insanity one day at a time. 85 Days until departure. |
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