Not being depressed I find myself whining about inconsequential matters. That I should experience fear, anger, or sadness apart from their obsidian amalgam in my illness I suddenly take for granted.
Today, for instance: after I had to buy seven more Abilify for $107.00 yesterday because my meds hadn’t come from Canada—yes, you guessed it, the damn meds arrived. And of course they were late because when I sent the Rx in, I hadn’t noted the order # on the Rx. I did make an order online, but they filed the original Rx away and never connected the dots. Fine print. Policy and procedure. Don’t you hate it?
Kathleen has taught me to read instructions on many things I didn’t use to; still, I somehow manage to miss the important parts. If for every new purchase you read every instruction and legal disclaimer, would you even have time to eat? Imagine grocery shopping and reading every nutritional box. Or the complete instructions, twenty pages in badly translated Chinese, of how to operate your new television. Laugh, you can laugh, but eventually your dereliction will bite you in the ass. I suppose the answer is to read the fine print for anything important, like life and health insurance and mortgages and new cars. But what about refrigerators? Where do you draw the line?
My theme was how forgetful the human animal is. I must remember gratefulness; after being underwater for 18 mos. and having my head above for one, do I really need to complain about spending an unnecessary $100.00 for my life-saving medication? Or is that just normal living? “Dear, that man cut me off! Get his license number! Why did they deliver the paper so late? I can’t believe the price of gas! Can you believe how all the aging rock stars are trying to revive their careers by doing duets with other aging rock stars?” And so on. These are the normal and trivial emotions of the human tribe, and perhaps I should be grateful that I can again experience them.
It’s like sports; there’s something so innocently human about rooting for your favorite team. I’m rooting for Boston now, though a Dodgers fan, though neither compares to my devotion to the Lakers. But isn’t it charming? The arbitrary loyalty to a team of millionaires who do something with a ball? I think it’s charming. So normal. I feel sorry for those who choose their allegiances by merit. Home teams are like family; you love them mindlessly. They belong to you.
My new euthymic attitude extends to so many things. It’s like waking up from a long nightmare. I look at my bookcase and exclaim, “I have so many wonderful books! I look at my CD collection and remark, “I can’t believe how much good music I have!” I look in my closet and think, “I’ve never had so many clothes!
Is that my beautiful wife?
1 Kilobunny.
CE
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Unexpected Light
Selected Poems and Love Poems 1998-2008 ON SALE NOW!
You are pitiful. Throw yourself off a cliff. And do it quickly. Spare the electric grid your self-centered garbage.
ReplyDeleteYes.
ReplyDeleteI have.
Grid spared.
SCgarbage removed.
Thank you for your pointed remarks,
CE
You misunderstood.
ReplyDeleteI want you to end your life. You are a waste.
Do it. And don't thank me in that sarcastic way, it only shows the your hidden mean nature.
Everyone of you stupid druggies is the same. It all comes down to you.
End your life.
You really can’t apply relativism to complaints. Whatever the current complaint, it stands in a vacuum. I don’t think there is a complaint continuum with which you need concern yourself. It’s fun; it’s cathartic; it saves us from doing bodily harm to our fellow beings. Nothing wrong with complaining. Oh, and come on anonymous, add some ethos to your argument; how 'bout a name?
ReplyDeleteMy son, whom Kathleen knows and you will too if I ever get this house-painting finished, never complains about losing two to three days every two weeks to gran mal seizures, but he requires four bandaids for a hangnail...go figure...it is indeed cathartic to complain about something, I think...
ReplyDeleteAnd speaking of that...
Don't paint in autumn on the coast if you want it to dry...or when the surf is up and the painter is a no show. The sea was gorgeous this past week, the heron couple have returned, callas are above groung...nothing really to bitch about except the beautiful October moon that woke me too early every morning setting...the paint not drying and the cost of fish in the grocery store, right?
Happy Halloween...hope you and your bride treat yourselves to a treat coming back from a rough patch. : )
PS If the person who cut you off was a little old lady in a red car, it might have been me. : )
PSS Be sure to look what Beau Blue did with my art and Marcia Adam's poem:
http://www.cruziocafe.com/
I can't download all of it on dial-up but I loved the first three lines I could. : )
Pat
I hope my critic knows me, because it is a terrible thing to wish death to someone base solely on their writings. But I always welcome nutjobs, being one myself at times.
ReplyDeletePat, yes, the ocean has been gorgeous. See my next post for abalone update.
Jarod, don't argue with idiots. Your eloquence will be wasted. ;-)
CE