The back porch where the coveted glass of wine awaits is an easy-for-me drive from my current location. This post is my attempt at taking the current inventory. Feeling a need use poetic expression in the inventory. I am dealing with matters of the heart. Scientific methods do not seem to fit the mood.

The tell tale feelings of electric oscillation are present but manageable. I am typing, aren't I? So far as I can tell, the typing is creating intelligible sentences. Lots of errors, but I am catching them. I know what language I am typing. Wo zue zhong wen... If my Mandarin was developed enough, I would add a "still" into the "I am studying Mandarin." Compulsive study of foreign languages is one of the symptoms of my flight mode. When I loose track of what language I am thinking in, single put down from an Imaginary They can trigger my inter-continental flight pattern. At the moment, I think it is a good thing that my passport is currently expired. Wouldn't take too long to fix that, though. . . Sometimes I think my compulsive language studies are simply a quest to find the human language that has the words to express what I am feeling. Intellectually, I have given up that quest, but. . . Don't think my oft-admired intelligence is my strong suit today.

I slept well but woke hyper-vigilant and too early. Also manageable. No jumping out of bed with frantic need to patrol my perimeter. I was able to keep my head on the pillow, using calming techniques. The resulting visualization was of a bird -species unidentified- circling the construction site -nature of construction unidentified- where the nest used to be. Don't accuse me of delusional certainty, but I do not believe recently disturbed wildlife ever knows what progress humans have destroyed their homes for. To the recently disturbed wildlife, I believe ALL human construction looks like carnage. I am definitely feeling my call of the wild. Can you tell?

Dissociation is running high enough, in my visualized circling, that the back porch where my wine glass awaits is only a building among uninviting asphalt and a chaos of rooftops. Not home. The continual hum from the nearby interstate is nerve-wracking. The coveted glass of wine looks like bait in a trap. My beloved husband looks like just another human of indiscernible intent. He is wearing his Daddy Gasbucks conditioning and has his employee entourages on alert, waiting in the inky shadows of his bright security lights. Don't even get me started on the Gang Blamers and the beautiful child screaming hysterically in between quiet moments with his e-toys among the precious thing piles surrounding him in cluttered chaos.

Sigh.

Time to end the visualization and see if there is a place to get my caffeine fix around here. Chewing as I hunt. . .