autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.


My next appointment is on the 16th, mostly a follow up on the new RX and how it’s doing. Then, the annual mammogram, the follow-up with physiatry on the lumbar situation, and finally, on the 27th, my “new patient” appointment where options are discussed and treatment plan is undertaken for this rent-free bastard living in my left kidney.

I hope. This thing is starting to hurt all the time and I am decidedly NOT a fan.

It very much feels as if I am simply not intended to know more than brief flickers of contentment and peace in this life. I don’t really understand why this is the case, but it would be foolish to deny that it is so.

I suppose if I had a support system, they would be telling me all the ways that’s not true or all the things I’ve savored in life, but I seem to be a little betwixt such things at the moment.

It’s hot. I hurt. All the time. No one gives a flying fuck and the weight of that is…. well, sometimes I guess it feels heavier than usual.

That’s when I realize that all I really want is not to have this be my usual.

So many people get to have that in this life. I don’t get why not me. I follow the rules, I work hard to help others, I keep my potential for high level evil amply sieved and contained. I love easily and quickly, and miss everyone I ever once knew but no more.

I recite their names every night and send my deepest hope and wish they are happy and content because that makes it worth it.

I don’t recall the last time someone actually said my name.

I am so tired.

In the practice, it is normal and natural to contemplate the transition and to be content in the reality that the “I” is borrowed energy that, by laws both ethical and quantum, must return and be refactored.

We contemplate death as a means of affirming life. The reminder eases the weight that hums and strums from the razor-wire strung rock that seems a permanent resident in my chest. One was enough. I didn’t need the one in the kidney, too. (wry grin)

It’s a spasm, really. The chemistry is channeled so quickly into fear and anxiety that perhaps it’s just impossible for me to be anything other than constantly nervous and worried about the infernal, eternal, fucking ninja that is the proverbial “other shoe”.

I can’t stand how angry and afraid and hurt and tired I am. No one else can, either. But it’s ok… we do what we need to do until we don’t need to do it anymore. Whatever “this” is, I go through it regularly and it empties me out so the quiet of the hollowness can soothe me.

I think for a moment about people who play with the label of “autistic” for ‘cool points’ and I’m willing to wager none of them would run to sign up for THIS kind of thing on the regular.

The practice is often the only thing that keeps me from making a full on day of it. And that took, what, over ten years to reach?

There’s a reason they say do not delay in the practice. Frankly, all things considered, I’m doing right well to be here yodeling on about me, me, me, now, now, now.

May all the accumulated affliction arrive on the breath and may only pure light be returned.

Sealed, sealed, sealed.