Taking Inventory

I contracted 4 nights in a town about 35 miles from the parental home town. It is close enough for easy access and far enough for effective escape. None of the estranged relatives know I am here. Morning One finds me somewhere between meditative and paralyzed with anxiety. From the outside, it is hard to tell the diff between the two. It isnae much easier to distinguish from the inside.

I sincerely wish to see the aunt who hosted me during the search for my father's relatives. We hit it off quite nicely during those weeks and I enjoyed her humble home immensely. She is only a few years older than I and felt more like a peer than a matriarch. Alas, she is techno apethetic and I have hearing/speech issues which make me phone-phobic. Sometimes I can get through normal phone conversations gracefully, but the misses turn into nightmares with debilitating social stigma. Even with an aware and compassionate person on the other end, phone conversations are a nervousy, iffy proposition with my hearing weirds.

For now, I am merely taking personal inventory. What psycho weirds are bubbling in my PTSD cauldron today?

"Double, double, toil and trouble." -Shakespeare (Song of the Witches, Macbeth)

Sorting. . .