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Sleep did not come easy. Even when it did I woke up early. Woke up dreaming of being at a party that took place in between two regular one-story family type houses. People drifted from one house to the other. Most of the time I was in the middle between them. The party-goers would stop by to visit with me from time to time. Hanky panky plus was a'going on. I was fairly lucid, but kept holding back because I was semi-committed to some woman that in the dream I appeared to know for a good long time.
The dream went on and on until I was fairly awake, and I lay there on the bed feeling real good that I'd had such a good time. I decided not to think about it too much and started counting in the same way as I do when I meditate. Exhales on odd numbers. Inhales on even number. Count to twelve, then start back at one. Again and again. It could have happened for an hour or so, but time was flying because I was enjoying the rapture of my body being totally focused.
Eventually I got up outta bed because I knew I wasn't going back to sleep. It didn't matter that it was still dark outside. I clicked my computer outta Sleep Mode to see what time it was. Five o'clock in the morning. 62° Fahrenheit. Warm for this early in spring. I might as well stay up, make some coffee and enjoy it. The next week the weather is forecast to be unusually cool. Fine with me. It'll be hot all night ere long.
The problems I've been having with my mouth and tongue seem better. I'm afraid to trust that it's merely a matter of a food allergy involving cinnamon. I still have a little sore spot on my tongue, but it appears to be going away a little at a time. My swollen lips are much better. I had to figure this out for myself. The doctors simply don't care. They get their government check anyway. No blame.
Money is money. Why complicate matters with people's illnesses if you don't have to. There is nothing they need to do to get what they're after. I'd probably do the same thing. Go through the motions without emotional investment. Most of them will be paying off their student loans for most of the rest of their life anyway.
My personal medico friend got mad at me last night again, and stormed outta my house again. He don't like my attitude toward him being an agent of the state, even though he openly agreed with my argument. At one point I thought he might get over it. Now, it don't look so possible. It's easier to be mad at me than himself. Silk purses and sow's ears.
The software aided meditation I've been constant with for a while now not only appears to make me more fearless in the dreamtime, but now it seems to make me less tolerant in beta consciousness. I seem to be pissing people off with my plain-spoken, thoughtless remarks.
This is not exactly a recent development, but for a while I thought I was doing better by the people who act friendly toward me. After the milk spills and I insult their intelligence it's too late to try and abdicate my arrogant faux pas. I got no shame after doing these digitally driven meditations. I just say what I see and move on.
I felt fairly removed about viewing the various celebrations about what's his name getting assassinated. I never saw the pictures of 9/11 during the time all these people were getting all worked up patriotically. I might have gotten upset if I'd had a working TV at the time, but I didn't. By the time I did see the pictures it was all over but the shouting.
This is not new for me either. I seem hesitant by nature to invest emotionally in events I have no control or input in. Slowly I'm realizing this has a lot to do with what I read about my type of person according to the Enneagrams. To wit, a #5 type of persona that put their feelings aside until they have a chance to be alone to contemplate the given results.
For most of my life I figured I was just an apathetic person who cared little for the ways of the world. It's apparently not true, but I do seem to have a choice about whether I invest emotionally. If I have that option available to me, why would I drive myself nuts when it doesn't do me or anyone else any good?
Most of the ti-me I'm calm like the eye of the storm. I literally have to put on a false front and act like I'm upset about whatever the prevailing hysteria is about in order for the insane people around me to accept that I'm a fairly normal person like they think they are. For a while I thought it was me that was insane for being so detached instead of acting out like them. Not any more.
I have had my share of emotionally-based behavior, but it's mostly either been acting or elsewise when I am is off by myself with no witnesses. I'm not saying there was nobody around, just that there was nobody who knew I acted differently than the tumultuous manner on display for their eyes only. That's one of the advantages of living like a stranger in a strange land. Nobody knows.
Monday, a week ago, I missed my high school reunion, but it wasn't intentional. Not consciously that I'm aware of. It could have sorta been intentional, but not really. I was writing when I was supposed to go, and when I write, the outside world just isn't there for me. Literally, "time flies when I'm having fun."
The only reason I harbor for suspecting I may have deliberately ignored going is that I put up the letter announcing the reunion was coming up on the wall where I keep my other appointments. I used a black Sharpie to write down the time and date in prominent lettering so I wouldn't miss it.
I keep a close eye on these notices of appointments. I'm normally aware of them for weeks ahead of time and do a constant countdown until the actual date shows up. It's like that with my VA Hospital appointments. Not keeping those appointments can make life difficult because they kick you out of the clinics. Then, you're left to get treatment only at the Emergency Room. That's not good.
As far as the reunion was concerned, my suspicions that I didn't really intend to go arose because I didn't really anticipate it by paying attention to the reminder note I had on my "appointment wall". Interestingly enow, I wasn't even being aware that of it being Monday, the 25th of April until a couple of hours after it happened.
I felt no shame for forgetting. I always felt I was on the outside looking in with my classmates. I became a classmate late in the game when my family moved here when I entered the Sixth grade. The small town cliques were already formed by then, and I was the last one chosen to play games at recess. It wasn't the first time I was Johnny-come-lately. The new guy. We never got over it.
Maybe I'll show up at the next reunion. I got what I wanted to do done at the last reunion, so it doesn't really matter to me anymore. I recited a long poem I'd written with only one brief memory lapse. I did it in keeping with the saying that nobody can be a healer or prophet in their home town.
It worked. They were as astounded by my performance as any group of strangers have been since I've become my own man. My performance and my classmate's reaction proved to me that this isn't my hometown, and I can wax shamanistically with aplomb here, as if merely another mysterious visitor performing miracles, just because I decide to.
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