Whole Cloth

 

I'm at a loss for words. Just a moment ago I was so clever, so to the point. I remember that I'd declared the not too hidden fact that I'm depressed. Not so that I'd want to end it all, except slowly. Three times under. There was something else, I can't remember what, then the words of my friend Mary, "You're the only one who can change it."

I quipped the memory of her remark, and that's what I can't recall; I was so clever, so to the point.

Godess I'm depressed. Self medicated (i.e. drunk, on the weekends anyway). I got onto facebook drunk. Oops.

I mean, the level of discourse is not. One of my co-workers came into a little gathering in the office and declared that the protesters on Wall Street are being paid by Obama. He was serious. He'd heard it on the internet. Is there some misconstured kernel of truth there or was this fashioned of whole cloth? Does such a distinction even matter?

The Autumn progesses beautifully. I saw my first bare tree this evening, its bronchial structure displayed like spilt ink across the sunset. I've got my poplar stacked and covered and my neighbor said he told some tree hound to get lost so that I could cut up his fallen hickory. I guess I'll be warm even if the electricity fails this winter.

Yeah, I know the truth. It may be beautiful, but it ain't pretty.

 

I Daresay

 

This goes beyond neglect. I daresay I have no regular readers left. Not that I could blame you. It's been a long time since I've had anything truly interesting to share. Should I go back out on the road again? Banish the thought!

Wednesday last was a grey day, constant drizzle punctuated by the occasional downpour. The city is grey, punctuated by neon. How indistinct; I realize how much we rely upon light and shadow to structure our world, all the time imagining everything to be so clear.

Overcast and rain makes the city dissappear; not so the autumn woods. The muted colors glow, take on new life. I get frustrated with the tourists clogging up the roads, rubbernecking the leaves. I guess I can share. I feel sorry for the welfare mothers though, the ones who couldn't afford the petrol to come down here even if they had a car. Occupy Brown County! (That's not a racial slur; Brown County is the autumn tourist destination in Southern Indiana, with colors equal to New England's.)

It's not grey now. The sun is bright, filling my living room with the moving shadows of the leaves still on the trees, and there are many. It's just now approaching peak. (Who among thee remembers peaking on LSD?) I work too much, too long. I pay a heavy price to earn a living, yet I am blessed. Yes dear reader, I neglect you. Another Lotus Festival has come and gone. Last night I attended Carrie Newcommer's CD release concert at the Buskirk-Chumley theatre.

Everything is Everywhere.

 

Chiropractor, Heal Thyself!

 

It was the kind of pain that turns your stomach, that beads your brow with sweat. I'd jumped out of bed without realizing anything was wrong; now I was hobbling around the living room saying, "Oh shit" over and over. "Oh shit, this sucks, I don't think I can make it to work today. Oh shit." I called my chiropractor but his office was closed till Wednesday. "Oh shit, fuck!"

I'd been experiencing some lower back pain since Saturday, after I'd cut up some downed trees in the back yard and hauled the wood up to be split. The pain was low level and I'd hoped it would simply work itself out. Then Sunday my buddy brought his splitter over. He ran the machine while I fed it. I could tell it wasn't the best for my back, but it didn't feel like I was doing any more damage, nor was I in any more pain after than before. I even went to work that evening.

Monday morning was when I got slammed. I recognized this pain. I'd had it before, after cutting wood once years ago; duh. I forced myself to eat a little dry toast, swallowed massive amounts of ibuprofen, did stretches and hobbled around for about half an hour. "Oh shit, oh shit." I started to feel better and headed for Indianapolis thinking maybe my boss would know of a chiropractor close by so that I could get cracked and then keep cracking. I can't afford to lose work.

By the time that I got there the pain was manageable and I figured I'd wait till Friday to seek help, my day off. It was a busy day. I was climbing in and out of the tractor continually, dropping trailers, hooking to trailers. Lo and behold come evening time I was feeling good; not just better, really fucking good, like that ambrosial peace that descends on one after an intense migraine has departed.

"The morning will be the test," I figured, "after a night of inactivity." When morning came I was still good. I'm healed, thank the Goddess!