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Last night I took one of every kind of pain pill I have in my arsenal and went to bed hoping I've feel better this morning. It seems to have worked to some degree. At least I'm in a better psychological mood. I need to be. It's another dank morning. Misty and cool. It will probably be another hour or two before the Sun burns it off and the dampness stops penetrating my clothes and my skin.
Images of my grandson keep popping into my mind. I don't know why. I've never seen him in person and I probably never will. I guess I should feel lucky my daughter even allowed me to know he was born. As if I actually have friends that I could brag about having a grandson to. It's not true. I have alienated my potential friends in the same way I've alienated my ex-wives and children. No blame. Apparently I have other fish to fry.
It was the concept of projection that finally did me in. After I had the out of body trip and returned to my body uttering, "Every thing is no thing but the idea that it's some thing.", the end of my being what the other needed for their sake drew nearer. It took decades for me to grasp that all I could perceive in the world was merely my own idea of what is out there, but slowly there was nothing left but me. I am is it. It is me. Always. Standing in the need of prayer.
The person I thought I was that I was convinced would never live to get to get thirty years old actually did not live. It died at around twenty-nine and a half. Good riddance. That which took it's place died too. Life is death for me. Every life that takes the place of the One who died will die itself ere long.
The death of the person my wannabe friends thought of as being their friend is what has alienated them. Not any morbid deed nor despicable act of cruelty. One day I just wasn't who they thought they were in me, and the absence of their expectations of what I should be for them is all it took to institute their withdrawal.
Yesterday I went for a walk as a last resort to deal with the pain I've been experiencing. It wasn't much of a walk. Out to the paved road in the pretense of retrieving my mail, then down to the gated road that passes by the family pond. Then, I crossed to the other side over the dam, and approached the barn my father and younger brothers built.
It's no longer a barn. The championship herd my father took so much pride is has been long gone, and the dilapidated building that had not been maintained or repaired for years was laying collapsed in a heap. I wanted to feel some nostalgia, but none was there for me. Breeding cows was my father's bag. I never cared much for caring for animals. I don't even keep pets. Not as anger. I just reserve my emotions for humans.
After I walked around the old fallen barn for a few minutes I walked back across the dam and up to my house through my youngest brother's yard. When I came upstairs to get back on my computer I couldn't find my glasses. I walked the same route I describe above to see if I could find them. No dice.
Exasperated, I went to the bathroom to pee. For some reason I straightened the beach towel I use as a rug to step out of the shower on to keep from slipping, and there my glasses were laying up next to the commode. I was glad to find them. I'd already lost my newest pair when I fell off the ladder covering my fig tree with plastic for a late frost.
Where those glasses got to is a big mystery for me. They could have only fell off during the fall. There is no place for them to fall except on the lawn, which was still brown and was still short from being mown back in the Fall. My brother came over to help me look for them, and neither of us could find them.
When I fell from the ladder I got a solid bump on the head. Maybe it was a hard enough fall to give me a concussion. I was so dazed by hitting my head on the lawn I quit trying to put up the plastic and came inside to lay down. Maybe the glasses didn't come off during the fall, but are somewhere in my house. God knows I've looked for them everywhere, but they haven't shown up.
I have another appointment at the VA Hospital in Fayetteville to have my cataracts checked out again. I've lost all faith in the optometry profession. I've seen at least six optometrists and eye surgeons and they have all told me a different story. I personally think they're just waiting for me to die of old age so they won't have to do anything about the cataracts at all. What a bunch of jerks.
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