Noodlings

I wake up… what other options are there really? Stephen is already out of bed and watching the morning show.

Stephen, Sam and Willi during happier times.

Willi’s death has slowed me down yet cut things in half…life runs through the time/space projector in cut time, only two beats per bar instead of the average four. I am not in a hurry…despite the time signature changes. I used to be in a hurry. I think it could be depression, but for once I don’t see it as a pathological thing that needs to be pharmaceutically removed. I now just see it as Dorothy Parker coming for a visit, drunk as a skunk, but sharp as a tack. So what if I am on half speed, the universe is telling me slow down, who am I to say no we need to be up to tempo? How do I know what tempo is the right speed…I am not the composer?

My father’s voice says, “Slow down”. He should know, he’s the one with the overview.

As someone who has suffered from depression in the past I remember feeling like everything would just fall apart because I simply was not up to speed for what the world was demanding of me. Ya, like it all depends on me. Sometimes we have to say no to the world and the culture we find ourselves brainwashed and driven by. No, I am not up to what you say is “normal”, not today. Today I am up or down to something else. I am in grief, and I know it doesn’t fit in with your plans…with your time schedule. I am so sorry.

Thanks Cathy for the wonderful conversation we had last night. On the other side of fear is freedom. Ain’t it the truth…how did you get to be so wise, my goodness?

“There wasn’t nothin’ that French ventriloquist didn’t teach you”
(Margo Channing, All About Eve)

My inner voices are now attempting to interrupt me...

Don’t write this
You don’t know what you are talking about
No one wants to hear about this
Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?
Shouldn’t you be someone else?

No, I should not.

And so, I sneeze six times on my second cup of deforgodsakencaf. Of course I am allergic to this stuff...it’s as hollow and lacking in promise as an unsigned anonymous love letter…I mean really, that’s kids stuff. Of course perhaps it’s just spam…yes that’s what it was…spam. Delete.

And so, a new day begins…bursting forth with all sorts of peculiar yet irrefutable noodlings.

There’s no such word as noodlings Mark!

I know…that’s why I had to invent it.

You didn’t invent it…someone else must have thought of it first.

Of course, whatever you say.