Today

Today, I use words not my own to convey my thoughts, for Emily Dickinson has already written them.

My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

Not-So-Secret Sorrows

You cannot prevent the birds of sadness from passing over your head, but you can prevent their making a nest in your hair
~Chinese Proverb

As some know, I feel quite a lot of affection for select writers/poets/philosophers. Among them, of course, is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. There is a quote, from Longfellow, that I have considered often as I contemplate the reactions of people other than myself. People whose behavior might be confusing to others; people who are likely being misinterpreted or misconstrued. The quote:

“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”

Usually, the quote has a very different meaning for me. Under normal circumstances, it is a gentle reminder to make allowances; to not make assumptions; to be understanding. It is a commentary on the individuality of humans; on the inevitable inclination that we have to presume that our actions/reactions should be mirrored in those around us. The assumptions that we make all of the time, based on our own unique behaviors, experiences, or reactions. If – when I am happy – I smile, then a smile on the face of the man across the street must mean that he’s happy. But what if that man is not smiling? What if he is baring his teeth, as his mother taught him to do when he is uncomfortable? (Okay… a bit of an odd example, but I’m hoping that you can stretch with me here.)

These days, this favorite quote is a reminder of my sadness, and the causes for that emotion. Unfortunately, these days nearly everything is a reminder of my sadness. Driving? How depressing. Going to work? Nearly unbearable. Drinking hot chocolate? I can barely contain my tears…

I am so very, very tired of feeling sad. I’m so tired of feeling sad that I’ve begun to use “anger” as a bit of an escape from it. When the weight of it becomes too much, I find myself thinking thoughts of this sort:

“Idiot. How are you going to get on with your life if you feel like that? You are absolutely WASTING TIME.”

Or

“That is enough. Do you want me to GIVE you something to be sad about? Hmmm? Do you? Fine. I’ll come up with some terrible, horrible thoughts, and then you’ll see what sad REALLY feels like.”

Or perhaps

“Guess what? You know the way you’ve been acting lately? Dragging about, always tired, always on the verge of crying…. That’s going to lead to awful things. That’s right. You’re probably going to get pulled over for erratic driving. Your favorite pants – they’re toast. Might as well kiss those goodbye. I’m sure you’ll stain them within the next week. Oh – and that job you have right now?? You’re DEFINITELY about to lose that….”

As you might imagine, I haven’t been exactly “cheery” lately. I’m tired of myself…. And everyone out there who continues to see me – who continues to converse with me – you are insane. But thank you. You are all marvelous people, and – when I recover – I shall be certain to bestow loads of “happy thoughts” upon you. [DISCLAIMER: My current pessimistic state is insisting that I allow for the possibility that I shall NEVER recover, and that I shall live out the rest of my days in the “depths of despair.” (That last bit is a literary reference, and those of you who are fortunate enough to recognize it are at an advantage in this cruel world.) ]

Not only am I horrid company (unless you are already miserable, since – as they say – “misery loves company”) but my mind has essentially gone to hell. I’m walking into walls, (no, I am NOT kidding – and it’s not just walls. I have random bruises all over my legs from walking into countless unidentified objects…), I’m forgetting important facts, I’m incapable of focusing, and – VERY disturbingly – I’m losing things. And now we come to a crucial part of this essay: The Plea For The Return Of The Yoga Bag.

If ANYONE has spotted a black bag, embroidered with the American Cancer Society Active For Life logo, notify me IMMEDIATELY. The bag is approximately 6 years old, and has never been on its own before. It is filled with a wide selection of yoga clothes, and also with ONE OF MY FAVORITE t-shirts (orange, with a reference to “good karma” on it… this is nearly unbearably ironic should my bag prove to be stolen…) and one of my favorite pairs of jeans. REWARD offered.

I have searched high and low for my bag, and cannot possibly imagine where it might be. This is so entirely out of character that I have been forced to admit that I am not Myself. (I was able to stay in Denial up until this point, but apparently the loss of the bag resulted in my eviction from the premises.) Who I am I do not know… But I hope to find My Newself or even My Oldself someday. In the meantime, while I search, I shall consider a different quote:

~ The word 'happiness' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness. ~

Carl Jung

Four Eyes. Or Eight. Maybe Six.

Today, I have found myself quite distracted by a very important question: What (in the fruit) is going on with spider eyes? I’m not certain of how the issue originally came into my mind, but since its arrival I’ve been unable to come up with an answer satisfactory enough to let it go. I’m particularly perplexed by this: Why do some spiders have 8 eyes, while some have 6… or 4… or 2? What sorts of creatures are these? It would be pretty strange for any other species of living thing to have such variety in the number of any of their organs and/or parts.

“So,” I imagine a conversation with my friends beginning, “this new guy you met – what’s he like?”

“He’s nice.” I’d reply. “Tall. Brown hair, olive skin. He has a bit of an odd accent. Four ears, and two mouths. I think he knows Sarah. Did I tell you that?”

It just doesn’t make sense. What’s more, I’ve learned that most spiders have poor eyesight. What in the hell?? The pitiful things have been shafted all the way around. Not only do they have to look like scary freaks, but there’s no payoff to it! Those creepy looking monstrosities protruding from their heads are – to be blunt – completely worthless. Apparently, some spiders use all eight of their eyeballs just to distinguish between variations in lighting. Who made up the rules to that game?? If I were a spider, I’d be quite resentful about it. In fact, I might even become aggressive toward anyone who could see better than me. You know what I would do? At night, when it’s dark out, I’d take advantage of my shadow-distinguishing abilities and I’d scurry all around, crawling unto any creature with better sight than me, reveling in their temporary blindness. Of course, should they begin to move I might very well panic (not being able to really see what’s going on, you know…) and I might instinctively bite.

Wait a minute…. I think I might have a better understanding of what’s been going on in my apartment…

Still no better understanding of the eye conundrum, though. The poor spiders waiting for my room to grow dark are probably stamping all of their appendages (which are also present in bizarrely high numbers) in impatience. They’re out of luck. I have pondering to do…

Domesticated Bliss

Life, as we all know, is a dangerous journey. It is fraught with unexpected events and perils, and is – at all times – uncertain. Some of us manage this uncertainty with dignity and aplomb, deriving enjoyment from each moment, caring little about the fact that each moment could be the last.

Rex the dog, unfortunately, is not one of those carefree souls. On the contrary, Rex has developed a hyper-fear – no doubt in case standard fearing-for-one’s life should prove to be inadequate. There is little logic (none, really) in Rex’s terrors. Why, for example, is laundry so horrifying? To make things even more convoluted, clothing itself is of no concern. Should someone be walking about in a pair of pants, they are paid no heed. Take those pants off and twirl them around a few times, and Rex begins to shake and tremble in a manner reminiscent of an off-centered washing machine. This is puzzling.

Also puzzling? The fear of thunder, and of clapping. These would not be quite so disturbing were they not such a contrast to real dangers – dangers which Rex seems to be oblivious to. Cars do not pose a threat in the world of Rex’s head, even if they are hurtling down the street toward him at high speed. Feet – especially moving feet of large, mobile humans – do not need to be watched out for. Why would they? Hot surfaces, large, aggressive dogs, knives… None of these things bother Rex in the least. He has a habit of running in front of people if they are carrying large, view-impairing objects, and one of his favorite places to position himself is in front of feet as shoes are being put on or taken off – even though this has caused him to be inadvertently kicked in the head more than once.

These behaviors – and similar behaviors that I’ve observed in other pets – are troubling. Not because they are so senseless, but because I believe that we – as humans – are responsible for them. When we domesticated animals, we specifically chose animals with qualities that would be considered “weaknesses” in the wild animal kingdom. This is logical – to a degree. The strongest animals – the most intelligent – want nothing to do with humans. We had to select the not-so-smart, or the weak, to create a “need” for our company or our assistance. We created animals that would no longer be capable of surviving on their own. It’s not that they’re no longer intelligent, but they’re not intelligent in the same way. Their strengths lie in their ability to humor us, to entertain us. Skills that would not serve them well in the cruel world of nature…

On the plus side, these creatures are quite likeable. (As they should be. We – being the “gods” that created them - would naturally breed them for traits that we consider “likeable.”) It is as if they have been custom-made to be loveable. And, actually, they have…