Tag: anxiety

The Writing Moment

I’d been to the coffee shop, typing, writing a new novel. I love writing new novels, letting the ideas jump out of my head and into a document. They’re often crazy, and I frequently struggle to get it right on the digital pages.

Reaching home, talking with my wife, I shook my head. “I really wrote some weird stuff today.” I was honestly baffled. “It wasn’t planned at all. I don’t know where it’s going.”

It scared me, too. My nerves were screaming, that stuff is all so crazy. And it was completely contrary to what I’d planned. Yet, you know, it felt right.

That night, I awoke thinking about what I’d written and how it had ended. Suddenly, lights went on in my head. The dark and twisted path of the plot and story that I could barely seen was brightly illuminated. I knew what to write next, and abruptly comprehended the novel’s full course. At least for now.

Who the hell knows how it’ll change? It’s all a mystery to me. I’m just the writer.

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

Some days, shit is happening, and all you can do is pretend to pursue the normal aspects of being. For one, war is hettin’ up in the Middle East or whatever you want to call it. It’s been a war zone for years. It’s usually a matter of who is going to strike back, how, and when. There will be violence, death, and destruction. The Middle East quagmire of religions, history, and tribes and factions are overstocked with tendencies to war.

Personally, dispiriting matters keep piling up in my world. I don’t write about all of them. Not going to start now. My basic bottom line which I return to again and again, is, this is life. Many of us — hell, I’ll go out on a limb and declare that most of us — go through this shit. I can only imagine how worse the shit is magnified if you’re suffering from serious diseases, homelessness, racism and other prejudice, discrimination, or hate. On paper, I have it pretty good but life is lived on a spectrum. We slide up and down it. I’m on the down side today.

We watched again a Neflix series on the gut and the biome’s influence on our brains and pains.* As part of this show, they talked about fecal transplants. Transplants were done by people who had problems and were seeking solutions. One woman used her boyfriend’s fecal material as her transplant source. She noted that he has ‘mental issues’ but didn’t specify more. Or maybe I spaced on it. I did catch her say that she began acting and feeling like him, emotionally unstable, anxious, and depressed. She quit using his shit and used her brother’s shit. After a week, she felt much better.

I imagine a future of routine fecal transplants. A partner on the computer says, “I’m ordering some groceries and things. Is there anything you need?”

“Yes, get me some new shit. I’m almost out of shit and I’m feeling it.”

“What shit do you want?”

“Same shit as last time. It should be in your order history.”

“Is it the Tom Cruise brand Improved Shit?”

“Yes, that’s the shit, but get a big jar. I’m really feeling it.”

“You got it.”

I think about whose shit I might order. Maybe Taylor Swift, Tom Brady, or Patrick Mahomes. I pity the fool who tries mine. But then again, I know people with some shit that’s a lot worse.

*The Neflix series is You Are What You Eat: A Twin Experiment

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Sunda’s Theme Music

Sunda June 15, 2025 has taken off. It remains chill in Ashlandia, mostly sunny but clouds are clotting. 74 F now, the high will see us ten degrees warmer.

First, a shout out to the anti-King contingency and their nation-wide and world-wide showings. Millions showed for the cause. Meanwhile, PINO TACO and his minions endured a dour, sluggish, pitiful parade. The Army and its members deserve better; little TACO does not. MAGA and its orange chief should understand now that TACO’s attitude and lackadaisical treatment of people and rights is not appreciated. They won’t, of course. TACO lives in a bubble, as do the MAGAts. Trumpettes reinforce the positive and shield him from the negative. His delusional thinking does the rest. TACO and his support nachos will blame the fake news media, AI, etc — anything except the truth — to pretend that it was a fabulous parade, probably the GREATEST AND BIGGEST MOST BEAUTIFUL PARADE EVER!

Anyway…

It’s Father’s Day, a holiday begun when fathers said, “I’m tired of working. I’m taking the day off.” People responded, “How ’bout a tie? You’ll look good with a tie and that’ll make you feel better.” And so a tradition was born.

Called Dad today. He remains hospitalized. Surgery is planned for tomorrow. Although 92, he’s never been through surgery and he’s scared and nervous. I’ve been through a few surgeries and helped reassure him. As we spoke, he began remembering all the injuries I’ve experienced and joked about them.

Later, reflecting on our relationship, I went through how much Dad and I are alike. He’s much different from his father. I had a great relationship with that man, because my grandfather and I both liked building models. Grandpa has been gone fifty years. I still miss him.

Dad conveyed bad news. His younger brother was hospitalized Saturday night, and the brother’s son-in-law died suddenly of a heart attack while on a walk. Meanwhile, Dad’s sister, my aunt, celebrates her 91 birthday today.

Papi surprised me today by showing great delight in playing with a bright pink shoestring. I’d make the string wiggle and Papi would attack, nail it with a paw and then spin and race off. Returning a few seconds later, he’d get down into position for another go. This went on for ten minutes before he dashed away and out of the house.

Thinking about the flopped DC parade, The Neurons pushed forward a past song called “The Soft Parade”. “The Soft Parade” is by the Doors. I enjoyed listening to it but my friends found it strange. Well, yeah, that could be the Doors. My wife also disliked the song, telling me that she didn’t understand why I liked it. It’s another case of the old maxim, different strokes for different folks.

On to coffee, on to other things. On to Sunda. Cheers

2

A Dream Hodgepodge

This dream had quite a jumbled collection.

It starts with me returning. I was off to the military; now I was back. People had been staying in my place while I was away, but that was done with my permission. Things were a little out of hand because they’d treated it like a party crib. I had a stern conversation with them; yes, they were welcome to stay there. Sure, it was okay to have people over, but they’d start trashing things, and that wasn’t appreciated. They were very understanding in return.

Then I was tidying. I had shelves of old electronics, mostly stereos, cassette and 8-track tape players, CD players, and VHS players. The dust on some were thick. As I resettled back into life, I exclaimed to myself, “Man, I have a lot of gear here. How the hell did I get it all?”

A young boy came up. He didn’t pay any attention to me. He seemed to be looking for something so I asked, “What’s up?”

The boy answered, “I’m looking for a music player for my friend. He wants one for his bicycle.”

I said, “I think I can help him.” I pulled out a small black box and dusted it off. “This has a radio and tape player. It’s small and he can mount it on his handlebars.” I looked more closely at the black box. “It also has record player on it so I don’t know if he would want it.”

“That’s okay,” the boy said. Taking it, he went away.

In a weird dream shift, my place was both outside and inside. I worried about my cats. I had two, and they were a plush gray with golden eyes. Both were young. I looked around for them. They were busy investigating things just outside and playing. When I called their names, they hastened to me, which mitigated my worries.

Then, I worried about my schedule. I needed to call and find out where and when I needed to be for work. Going through my cluttered place, I picked up the phone and dialed 633 while going to my desk to find what the final four numbers were. A woman answered the phone, “Operator intersect.”

I laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t expect that,” I said. “What’s an operator intersect?”

The operator explained, “The call is diverted to the operator whenever the call is not completed but the line is open in case someone has an emergency but can’t finish dialing.”

I answered, “Sorry, I just don’t know where I’m calling. My bad.”

Next, I thought, oh, I should call Mom. So I did. Answering before a ring finished, she said, “About time.” No hello or anything else.

Irritation jumped through me. “Wait, are you pissed because I didn’t immediately call you when I got home? Is that what’s going on here?” She did not answer. I said, “You’re being childish. I’m going to count down from five. If you don’t start talking before I’m done with the countdown, I’m hanging up. Understand?”

No answer.

I began the countdown. When I said, “Three,” I went on, “Oh, forget this. This is stupid. You’re an adult, Mom, and you’re behaving like a child.”

Then I hung up on my mother.

Dream end.

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Sunda’s Theme Music

May 4, 2025, broke as a Sunda. Rain falling off in the night, blue sky and clouds mix it up in a friendly competition. Sunshine comes and goes with the clouds’ permission. The weather ‘they’ is hyping a high of 65 F, part of a warming trend for the week.

Dreams delivered today’s song. The dreams didn’t include the song. Disturbing as a loud animal roar in a coal-black night, the dreams had me scribbling details for well over an hour. Part of that was the phrase, “I’ve been thinking.” More usually followed. Now, though, The Neurons picked up the phrase, found where it belonged in a song, and rolled it for me. The result in the morning mental music stream was 1990’s song by Londonbeat, “I’ve Been Thinking About You”.

I’ve also been thinking about Mom. Her house is a mess without electricity. Day 5. She was convinced yesterday to go to my sister’s house and stay the night. Mom’s live-in boyfriend stayed at his daughter’s house. Taking care of her has been increasingly difficult for him. Her drugs and illnesses dull her mind and make her moody. She snaps at him. That’s worn thin. With her mobility lessening, he’s forced to carry her. She’s lost weight and doesn’t weigh more than a few birds these days. Still, weight is weight. Repetitive bending, lifting, and twisting is wearing out his 95-year-old body. Both have refused to leave her house and move into assisted living. But with her energy diminishing, his strength dropping, her senses dulling, and his eyesight and hearing worsening, will this be the straw that changes their mind?

We don’t know. More than anything, they’re independent and stubborn. I see so much of her in myself in these matters. Intellectually, I understand. Emotionally, it’s a far more complicated path.

My coffee is half gone. The cat has completed a few laps around the inside of the house. Now he’s gone to find sunshine. I want to do the same but I’ve planned a full agenda for myself. Who knows if I’ll stay with it.

I hope the best for you and your day, and us and our days. Deep breath; here we go. Cheers

2

Wenzda’s Theme Music

Greetings to all on this day, Wenzda, February 12, 2025. Sunshine is blazing across a bold blue sky, dazzling off the disheveled snow comforter still in place around much of Ashlandia. It’s 24 F, up from 19 F. Gonna get up to 42, 43 F, ‘they’ tell us.

A gorgeous full moon visited last night. Light sprayed across the snow, throwing deep shadows around trees and houses. One of those wondrous sights that hold your attention and forces you to invest in deep philosophical thoughts about the nature of existence. At least, until the wine runs out.

Happy Darwin Day! “Charles Robert Darwin, who first described the process of evolution of species in the plant and animal kingdoms through natural selection, was born.
It is now celebrated as Darwin Day, when the common language of science, bridging language and culture, is recognized and appreciated.“ stolen from Scottie’s Playtime. A friend puts on a one-person play as Darwin to honor the man. We were planning to attend but with the rise of flu and other respiratory illnesses, we backed off that intention.

That’s Dr. Pepper Trail on the right.

I also have another lymphedema bandage session this afternoon. The left appendage and all of its accessories responded well and I may come out of there wearing a normal shoe on it. The right, which had the surgery, still had some space to improve.

Today’s song is “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” by Elton John with Lyrics by Bernie Taupin. Released in 1973, while I was in high school, it’s one of those songs which are easy to sing along with…if you know the words! It’s like, what is he saying? Hearing the actual lyrics cause conniptions over meanings and associations. Some seem straightforward enough but others give a ‘huuuhhh?’ moment. It’s about longing to me, though, about being in a different place and time, one where you feel more comfortable. That’s why I The Neurons have delivered it to the morning mental music stream. Reading the world’s news, especially politics in the U.S., I wondered what road we’ll need to follow to survive and free ourselves of this mess. Where is the yellow brick road?

Coffee grabbed me as I was walking by and took me into the kitchen, where I indulged a cup to wash down a lemon turnover. Hope your day goes well. Stay safe out there. Cheers

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The Lost Tables Dream

This was obviously a dream about change. Anxiety. Confusion.

My wife and I were young people. We had a habit of driving to work together. We were taking turns driving. One would drive one day, the other would drive the next day. The dream showed this happening. Different cars for her and me; my car was a black sports car. Don’t know any details of it. Less is known of her car.

Although always going to the same place, part of our daily drive process was to consult on our phone about where we were going. That’s because the path changed every day. So whoever wasn’t driving was tasked with looking up the destination on the map and give driving instructions.

The dream showed this. I drove, she drove, I drove, she drove, etc. She looked up the directions, I looked them up, she looked them up, I looked them up.

Traffic was busy each day but the weather was good.

Our daily destination was a parking lot by a restaurant. We’d park near there and go on our separate ways to work. After numerous days of this, I was driving. My wife was looking up the instructions. But she was struggling with a signal and I, meanwhile, had made some guesses and found the way. She announced, “Got it,” right as we arrived at the restaurant.

But as I pulled up, I noticed that it was completely different. All of its tables were gone. The usually thriving place was completely empty.

Stunned, I told my wife, “Look. Something happened.” She was busy getting out of the car and heading to work so I repeated myself several times, further elaborating, “There’s no one there. The tables are gone. The place is empty.”

She left for work. I walked over to the area and then walked through the empty place, wondering how it had all changed, seemingly overnight. What I wondered most was, where are all the tables? They had so many tables. There was no sign that any tables had ever been there. As I stood there looking, I saw others hurryng by in the sunshine.

None gave the place a second look.

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Two Clothing Dreams

Two clothing dreams were experienced. One ended positively.

In the first clothing dream, it’s my classic anxiety dream. I’m back in the military, and oh, no, I’m not in reg. My hair needs a haircut and I don’t have my cap. We’re expected to be ‘under cover’ when we’re in most situations outside so not having your cap is a large, visible no-no.

And my hair! I was a senior non-commissioned officer. I’m expected to set an example, etc. But in my dream, I said, I can fix this.

I knew I had caps. I just needed to find them. And for the hair — show me a barber! That last was fixed almost immediately as I headed toward the Base Exchange complex. There’ll be someone to cut my hair there. As it’s an anxiety dream, you’d think I’d encountered difficulties with that, but nope! They were open, a chair was available, I had money to pay…it all went great.

Next, the hats. I went to my quarters and pawed through my gear. Yes, there was the proper cover for this ensemble selection. In fact, as I thought I knew, I had two.

Both were filthy, though. Well, hell, no problem. Soap, water, scrubbing, and they were clean and serviceable within minutes.

Dream end. Reviewing the dream, I was pleased. Had anxieties, but problems covered. Heh. Sorry ’bout the pun.

As frequently in my dreams, I was again a young person. One of my best friends during that period was my cousin, and he was in that dream. We were the same height but I was broad-shouldered while he was narrow. Within a few years, he would grow taller, becoming eight inches taller than me. As he swerved toward the right wing, our friendship split apart.

My aunt, his mother, was also in the dream. She was telling that we needed to get ready. With some fast dream talking and thinking, I realized some formal event was happening. I needed a suit and didn’t have one. Somehow I got hold of my cousin’s suit. Sky blue, the suit was a standard American classic cut but made of an unusual fabric that reminded me of a nylon scrub pad. I folded the suit up and put it in a machine that looked like a carrying kennel for animals. Withdrawing it after a few seconds, I discovered that the arms had shrunk, becoming narrow and short. The suit would now fit neither of us. It was also soaking wet, which puzzled me. It hadn’t been my intention to ruin the suit. Now feeling terrible about it, I started walking around wandering, where can I get two suits now?

That’s how and where the dream ended.

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