Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) Support Group
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arfie
My wandering urges are surging again. Big surprise for the folks who know me. NOT. Spring has sprung. I haven't had a functional field expedition since last summer. The "Music Capital of The World" is feeling like a gigantic gypsy trap again. Again? Really, it has been a decade or two, maybe three since I have returned here without feeling the dread of entrapment. Insert old english folk tune here. "Looks like I'm never gonna lose my wandering ways." But. . . The family bonds with two middle-aged sons, their significant others and the old geezer who loves them as much as I do are a tug strong enough to pull from very long distances. Sigh. Pick my poison time?
Hubs is on vacation this week. The agenda for the morning is to pack up my toolbox (the literal engineer's one with "Mom's Purse - and she knows how to swing it" painted on the lid) and the two GKs who have been with us since Friday afternoon and head to their house to hang a TV Mom and Dad bought with their tax refund. A wonderfully well balanced family evolution. I am thanking the cosmos for this moment of peace.
So why are my morning meditations filled with dreams of putting on my backpack and walking shoes? Old english folk tune or PTSD self-sabotage?
Maybe I should do something about the duct tape fixes on the hippie truck (hatchback) that I have been using for my field research since I got back from Ecuador in 2008. I CAN walk all the way to the Mississippi River Valley, but my support dog prefers her road throne. The hippie truck works well for domestic errands, as well.
Hubs is on vacation this week. The agenda for the morning is to pack up my toolbox (the literal engineer's one with "Mom's Purse - and she knows how to swing it" painted on the lid) and the two GKs who have been with us since Friday afternoon and head to their house to hang a TV Mom and Dad bought with their tax refund. A wonderfully well balanced family evolution. I am thanking the cosmos for this moment of peace.
So why are my morning meditations filled with dreams of putting on my backpack and walking shoes? Old english folk tune or PTSD self-sabotage?
Maybe I should do something about the duct tape fixes on the hippie truck (hatchback) that I have been using for my field research since I got back from Ecuador in 2008. I CAN walk all the way to the Mississippi River Valley, but my support dog prefers her road throne. The hippie truck works well for domestic errands, as well.
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I have been short road tripping in Texas for 30 odd years. Long time for a wandering fool. I no longer need a road map to navigate the entire state. From the heart of Texas, where I live, just getting to the state line is a day trip in itself. I am achingly tired of the boom stresses. The entire state has grown a world league traffic gridlock and is still booming. Progress is as good a name for it as any.
Grumble, grumble, gripe, gripe. . . How 'bout them Cowboys.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLoYFvbR0XY
Arfie love Roy and Trigger...thanks...and muji and loo, I hear you about theraputic trips and renewell...Hugs to that!
As far as avoiding gossip. . . The people who matter don't mind. The people who mind don't matter.
I love teasing gossips. It is the funnest part of staying in one place. Been known to tease something like turning a found item over to the police into. . . Well. . . You are safer not knowing. ^^sinister lift of the eyebrow^^
My house has a reputation the local gang lords don't challenge. Gooder 'n' minimum wage rent-a-cops at a gated community entrance.
It's a day's boat trip south of Galveston, apparently one of the nicest reefs in the world.
Might be worth slathering up with hydrocortisone and caladryl.