This morning finds my meditations spinning from the summer of 1977, when I held a "Therapy Funeral," guided by the highly controversial theory that in cases of mental illness where family interest is sub-zero, it is best to, "heal as an orphan." The theory behind the "Therapy Funeral" was to consciously place a marker in my psyche that my recovery was my own. I have no family support. None. Finito. Period. It is what it is...

Of course, my over-sexed Clan is far from dead. Guess where future generations come from......... Whatever the ethics of the origins...... I have not had much daily interaction with them since 1977, but the bonds remain quite lively. I call that empty space where my heart still feels the family bonds, "The Black Hole."

My beloved's mother died in November, during the first weekend of the gall bladder explosion. He was near death himself during the funeral. His newly widowed Father has not been sounding too sound. The corporate raider tactics are a stress my beloved is not enjoying....

Hubby's recovery is looking good on the wifey-meter. There remains at least one more "Simple Procedure" ahead of us, but ... Wifey is happy with the progress.

The emotional part ??? It is not mine to sort, but 34 years of watching my beloved's face grow its retirement wrinkles has given me insights that are hard to ignore... Girl howdy, my tongue is aching to cluck...

I meditate upon how much of the yuck my tongue is aching to cluck has nothing to do with the in-law mysteries that are not mine to sort... How much of my bottled hyper-expression is really just more screams from my own familial Black Hole???

Thoughts and reality checks welcome...