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This morning finds my eyes watering from the "pressure centers" in my cranium. My gut is writhing from painful knots refusing to budge. No doubt part of it is just the increased humidity from the thunderstorms over the swamps last night, but the all to familiar flight inventory is too evident to ignore. I crave the wind beneath my wings. Anywhere but here. . . Off to the future, whatever, wherever it may be. The river is all that is my only sincere interest here and it is a river valley that runs more than 2,000 miles in length. Far, far longer if you count its many tributaries. I count them, even if I can't name them. They are all connected.
Part of the therapy for my flight pattern is inserting time constraints. Impulse control? Hence the checking in to this hotel room for three days at a stretch instead of going my habitual night-by-night. My mind is currently agonizing over the all important detail of . . . Where did that important detail go?
By previous habit, I would have located local live support groups by now. My head is not safe neighborhood to travel alone. This time around all my therapy eggs are in the DS cyber-basket. Houston, do we have a problem?
No point. No clarity. Just ranting.
Part of the therapy for my flight pattern is inserting time constraints. Impulse control? Hence the checking in to this hotel room for three days at a stretch instead of going my habitual night-by-night. My mind is currently agonizing over the all important detail of . . . Where did that important detail go?
By previous habit, I would have located local live support groups by now. My head is not safe neighborhood to travel alone. This time around all my therapy eggs are in the DS cyber-basket. Houston, do we have a problem?
No point. No clarity. Just ranting.
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I haven't written in my diary on my computer since May because I thought that my computer was dying. I got away from writing but my computer is hanging in there. I think that I will start writing in it again. It's so therapeutic.
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First, I hope everyone is doing well, and continuing to fight that good fight! Keep up the great work on yourselves; I'm rooting for all of you!So, I started doing therapy at the beginning of the year, when I was in my most depressed state, but with my therapist, I made big changes and steps in the right direction. But, over a month ago, she couldn't take my insurance anymore, and I had to stop...
In my therapy dialect, the dialogue started in 1977, soon after I finally managed to fight my way into college. The college counselor who was trying to help me jump the obstacles soon agreed that, in my case, at that time, flight was the best available option. This would be the same counselor who guided the "Therapy Funeral" which officiated the beginning of my "Healing as an orphan."
I was 22 years old at the time and had already lived in too many places across on two continents. My flight pattern was a part of my base conditioning. I knew less about Townie Life than I knew about the secrets behind the Berlin Wall. Not too many of my therapists were convinced my wandering ways needed fixing, but all were in agreement that I could use a healthier approach to it. I agree.
Works in progress. . .
I have always admired the various "walk-about" traditions. Even the most stable of townies ought to know at least a little bit about life outside the traditions they were raised in. It is an amazing world we live in. Breaks my heart when I meet people who are afraid of it.
I am still holding tight to my belief that this round is not about eldest son (36). Hubs keeps trying to take it there. Might as well try to get a beaten crazy bitch wolf to volunteer for a luxury suite at the dog pound, Hon. Don't matter how fine the dog food in that silver bowl is. Ain't a-gonna happen.
"Identified Patient Syndrome" is the catch phrase which has facilitated the dialogue between us. It helps to have a phrase he can look up on the internet, complete with respectable acronyms. Silver platter families have the resources to do the syndrome "Right." I believe he is so steeped in it that he is far more aware of his daily bowel movement than the many ways he acts it out. Just my opine. I am still trying to resist the urge to psychoanalyze family members. No easy feat for this over-analyzer.
However impressive my rapid mobilization skills might be in a field maneuver, the sword cuts the other way in my flight therapy. I have yet to start packing. Gonna take my time with it. Small steps make the surest journey.
Marking twain. Will worry about the next bend in the river of life when I get there.
Just an update.
Much safe travel to you
Major Tom to Ground Control:
Safe landing complete without incident.
"I'm stepping through the door and floating in a most peculiar way
"And the stars look very different today."
Creative living in progress. Thank you for the support.
My feather babies sure have grown. A week is a long time in a bird's life.
Not so much for adult humans.