Just Push The Large Button Once

I just finished reading yesterday's entry. I don't know why I bothered. It's practically unreadable. There is not much I can do about that. I have to type what appears before me in my mind's eye before I can make judgement of it. Otherwise, I lose track of the particular strain of bacteria I'm enjoined to.

Sometime what I'm trying to write down is not a logical process that lends itself to elegant writing. I be-co-me with certain processes that pop up randomly. To do that I gotta let go of the last best thing I had come up with to move on to being a part of the new thing. Some of the processes I attempt to capture with words are very primitive.

My sister-in-law mentioned a saying she is fond of that has captured my attention. "Inch by inch, it's a cinch." I don't know where she got it from. This simple saying redounds to what I experienced when I made myself into things over the millennia. I think it may be about how the docetic, amorphous spirit that moves around in me does things. It seems to ooze through various parts of my body on a molecule by molecule basis (inch by inch).

This inch-by-inch technique is certainly how I approach complex learning curves. I sort of ooze my way through them bit-by-bit until I grok enough of the overall pattern to make a quantum leap to the grand scheme of the entire concept.

It's about that point where I make the intuitive leap to my final conclusions that I have problems if I'm gonna have them at all. Occasionally, I jump to my conclusions before I've grokked enough of the overall pattern to design a reach for the final tack to bring me to a classier port to weather an impending storm than any ol' port that will have to do.

I'm writing like I did yesterday that I couldn't make sense of today. It's an immediacy sort of dilemma. What I need to write is what's sot before me in whatever real-time I jump the broom with, and whether it makes sense tomorrow is just not the point of the exercise.

I'm so influenced by the few people that I do meet face-to-face for whatever reason, that being in their presence lingers for much longer than it might if I just spent more time around a bigger variety of homo sapiens. I got the instructions for how long I was supposed to leave the bandage on my leg where the doctor performed the biopsy, and how long I am supposed to wear this digital recording gadget kinda mixed up.

This wasn't/isn't/can't be a problem simply because the doctor and I have exchanged e-mails previously. All I have to do to allay my confusion is e-mail her and ask, and that's what I did. I got an answer back within minutes and she told me what I needed to know about the machine again, and said I should wear the motion detector machine for seven full days. She must have been sitting at her computer.

Since I had to visualize this doctor to run through all the considerations I had to make in order to get the information I needed via e-mail, I automagically reviewed and contemplated every moment me and the doctor had spent together from the first time I heard of her from my assigned rheumatologist at the VA.

I think that's what's necessary for me to make decisions about my deportment that I can live with. I'm writing about what I learned from studying the Enneagrams, and how I don't experience what happens around me in real time. I gotta go off and be allone with myself before I can contemplate my life from this broader scope, and that's when I experience how life fits into my framework rather than being tossed about haphazardly on the whims of others.

Everything about her appearance is what makes her what she is to herself. The first time I physical encountered this doctor was during my first appointment with the arthritic clinic at the VA Hospital in Durham. It's right across the street from the Duke University Hospital, and many of the doctors there also work part-time at the VA. I saw her that first time in little slices of time. In fact, I thought she was taller than me.

The next time I saw her we met in the hallway of The Living Center which is connected with Duke University Hospital, but I'm not sure how. It's none of my business due to sheer apathy. '-)

She had explained her research to me over the telephone a week before. My hearing her voice as she talked directly to me about something she wanted me to understand was the first time I'd ever talked to a medical doctor like that since childhood. Doctor Nance addressed me that way until he died. The reason her talking to me in that manner made such an impression was how she took so much time to make sure I understand every step of the process before I said yes or no.

Later, I found out why. She's a research doctor instead of a private doctor with patients waiting impatiently in the patient's waiting room. She could take as much time as she needed to explain what was gonna happen without making somebody wait to see her. It surprised me to be around a medical doctor who appeared to have some modicum of control over how she spent her time. I felt sort of special for her treating me that way. I never spent two whole hours with a licensed doctor (except Dr. Nance) who acted like a real human being, ever.

I believe me being whatever it is that I am, and her being a medical doctor, are at opposite ends of the spectrum culturally, and by social class too, but we have something in common. M.D.s are surrounded by people practically all the time. I'm alone practically all the time. But, if either of us are around people, we're both trying to get away from them and off by ourselves as soon as possible. I just do it all the time or practically so.

I've been pretty healthy for most of my life. The only other serious medical problems I've had was when the disc got ruptured and required surgery to fix it. I might have been around that neurologist for ten minutes in a conscious state and two hours in an unconscious state. I'm not exactly looking forward to spending more time with doctors than ever before. It's not the kind of activity that helps one feel manly. Shit happens. Things change.