Brrr, an early good morning, I awoke this a.m. greatly unsettled after a disturbing dream filled with strange characters like a cult, a bank drive thru, an older Asian (?) man offering advice, and of course Michael saying no to the purchase of an exciting new Volkswagen model I wanted to purchase. Freud eat your heart out. My dream left me most unsettled at first, perhaps not so much what my subconscious created but rather the fact that I can actually remember dreaming last night—something that rarely ever happens thanks to my meds. So as to be expected, I came downstairs in search of coffee and some way to ease my sense of fear. I saw the Calm app on my phone but of course you have to pay for that so my next/only option was to go to YouTube and hooray one can find soothing music with video for stress, anxiety, just about anything, really.
So I think I was led down this rabbit hole of anxiety by a movie I watched Saturday night about chess champion Bobby Fisher, whose brilliance was eclipsed by crushing paranoia. In a way, I wish I hadn’t seen the movie, as I prefer to hang out sometimes in the ignorance is bliss quadrant, but hey, Michael had the movie on and I saw it so into the memory bank it went. Fortunately, I don’t really have paranoia and given my employment and earnings track record I’m certainly not brilliant. So hopefully this looney tune won’t end up like Bobby (something tells me I may have a happier ending). I’m undecided, remember?
We are officially entering into Christmas week, and cold weather is here, with temps plummeting on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I immediately think of all the mentally ill homeless, who I am praying hard make it to shelter either at the Faith Mission, a church, or maybe the library can stay open special hours to accommodate those in need. You just know the stubborn ones will want to stay in their tents on the banks of the Scioto (though I think the City did shoe them away from there). Sadly, some will just refuse to come in from the cold, and I suspect these are the dually diagnosed addict/mentally ill not in recovery. And these are the nameless, faceless people we lose, people who had such promise but just gave up.
Alas, I’m trying to find the happiness in Christmas 2022, but it just seems like Fate is having her way this year, much to my chagrin. Kevin Bartholomew actually was too busy to make it to our place to repair our sewer drain so we may be at the mercy of Eco Plumbers, who may or may not be here today. With our luck, maybe the pipes will freeze this weekend (or the car won’t start) but I’ve got fingers crossed and I knocked on wood to prevent all this. Michael hinted that maybe indeed we might have to sell this place, but given his insisting we move to Florida, I’m tempted to start hatching a scheme to keep us in Columbus…oh, I’m just unsettled this morning, and probably what I need is connection to my Higher Power, letting him control outcomes.
I guess I should also remember “Dare to Dream” and all that jazz, and carry on with my plans for the week. I am meeting my sister Tracey on Wednesday for lunch at high noon at the Cheesecake Factory, our annual Siblings Holiday Lunch that Chip is conveniently missing because he’s vacationing AGAIN. Now Melissa, don’t be jealous, some day you might travel too…maybe. Do the Christian thing and wish only good things for Chip and his family as they float on their Gin Palace wherever they might be.
No, no bad thoughts this Christmas—why should we make room for those anyway? Hey, gas is cheaper. I can tip my hat to that. Down Broad Street to mom’s house we go!
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