Monday it will be a year since my smashing little head incident and the anniversary presents a great opportunity to assess this crap. I also freshly bonked my noggin on Tuesday and have been enveloped in a less severe but still annoying cloud of dizziness and nausea once more, although I'm trying to pretend it isn't so.
|Old Lemon Cucumber in the November Garden|
|Lemon cucumber corpse|
"When things haven't gone well for you
call in a secretary or staff man
and chew him out.
You will sleep better and they will appreciate the attention."
-Lyndon B. Johnson
|Old Cucumber: luminous in its afterlife|
And yet... I too believe our culture's bullshit on what is respect and value and worth, though I fight it. It's only human. We're cultural creatures and we long to be valued by our social group and it's incredibly hard to ignore the screwy values we've cultivated into ours.
|Lemon Cucumber, post frost|
Back when I was telling people I would be a lawyer, I remember confessing to a friend as we whispered in, again, the darkest corner, of an intimate restaurant. I leaned in and dished my deepest fear about my faux-career path. I said, "...but sometimes, I think that if I even had to spend one sunny spring day in pantyhose and a cublicle I would slit my wrists in the bathtub." Shocked, she ordered me to never say that again, which I felt was kind of controlling and willfully blind: think it, just don't speak about it? But I don't think I meant I'd actually kill myself. I think I meant that I'd have to drastically change my life. So I'm not sure I really wanted the jet set life anyway. I just wanted to be American-Important. Can I settle for universal important? Do I have a choice?
People tell me: "Oh, you know doctors and their predictions... the cancer patient given weeks but takes years." Hell, after Huck's knee was shattered, lo these nearly 20 years ago, he was told he'd never walk again. But a bunch of titatnium and hard work later, and he's a runner. Or rather, was one until a month ago; now he's not even a walker, more of a swinging person on crutches with an appointment to see a surgeon. (Yes, life likes to pile the shit on.) I know these "don't take everything a doctor says seriously" folks are just trying to make me feel better, but they aren't. I'm enjoying the possibility that there's nothing I can do to make me American-Important, which means there's nothing I should be doing and that means there's nothing I'm failing at. Sounds kinda relaxing, doesn't it? Except for the financial part.
|The two moose who traversed our field|
Secretary and American-Important are off the table. My future self is at the spa... that it can't afford and doesn't deserve now that it's not American-Important, but she doesn't care. She's just splashing in the hot herbal sauna and ordering another glass of cool water with a lemon slice.