AS THE ZEN SAYING GOES, “After enlightenment, the laundry.”
Radio Psychosis has gone off the
air brainwaves at last. I didn’t mind it so much earlier in the year, when it delivered music I like. Mostly that means sad songs by pretty boys. The past few weeks though, it just gave me earworms. The kind you can literally hear *insert incredibly peeved emoticon*. This, for example, is a loved and lovely song, but not day and night plus idk how many remixes. Why, brain, why?
Btw you can sing this post’s title in the style of Dietrich, emptyink my head again, what am I to do …
So I just finished reading The Wild Truth, by Carine McCandless. You know, Chris’ sister. I watched Oprah interviewing Sean Penn about Into the Wild, then I saw the film, then I heard the soundtrack (Eddie Vedder) and then I read the book (Jon Krakauer). I do not have a t-shirt. Anyway. I think the Chris McCandless story and all its accoutrements will be filed as something like ‘On the Road for Generation X’ one day. Obviously I drank the koolaid here. In the initial book and film, you get the idea that the father had two families at once. In Carine’s book you find out that he sorta had two wives and eight kids all at once. And he was violent too. That and their mother’s refusal to break free, is why Chris disappeared.
I started the book feeling intensely sad that I couldn’t share it with my mother (dead mothers don’t read) and ended it damn glad. Carine makes it very clear that her mother’s failure constituted abuse – my mother would have applied that to herself. And I suddenly wished that instead of spending years denying to my mother that she had let me down, I ought to have simply told her that I forgave her and that she had more than made it right, in the end. It was a good read, I recommend it. Not very triggery either.
We live, we learn.
I have a free, gratis and for nothing appointment with my psychiatrist this week. I am very touched and grateful. Tbh I probably spend more money at the vet *glares at dogs*. I’ll also be increasing the Lamotrigine dose this week (autocorrect wants to call it lamp trigger).
Idk if I’m still depressed or not. I guess I could do a questionnaire or something. At the very least, I am less depressed anyway.
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way … (Pink Floyd)
Chop water, carry wood … (eat, shoot, leave)
So my default state when I don’t know wtf anything means or is, is to put one foot in front of the other and plod. I can be as stoic and stupid as Sisyphus (and as sibilant, apparently). Keep on truckin’, even when you have no faith in anything.
I am the alpha and omega of narrators (I am omniscient) and I know the beginning and the end. The beginning is the word and the end is silence.