Fear Factor

 Good morning. A slightly more serious tone today, as I think there are forces amok trying to frighten me. But I’ve become a tough old bird since my latest run in with the nut hut, replete with extremely strange characters, armed with lighters, unsupervised, who could have caused quite a problem. Yes, I’m stronger now and if those annoying AI programmers at Google want to mess with my serenity, well I’ll catch them at my next AA meeting.

Kinda feeling like it’s me against the world this morning, and I’m the only one with a sense of humor…the only one looking for the positives in life. I want to approach things with a smile, kindness and compassion, laughter but all I seem surrounded by is the media churning out frightening headlines and manipulative agendas. Why they insist paying copywriters more than reporters I’ll never know. Michael keeps relaying frightening stories to me and all that makes me do is have upsetting dreams. I can’t help feeling that he is a pawn now, and this is all one big chess game with the man behind the green curtain pulling the lever. Show yourself now!

But no, life is never that easy, with people dropping their elegant facades and just taking a chance at meeting someone as themselves. Maybe I’m lucky because I know I’m a mentally ill alkie in recovery freak who trolls the alleys and lives in a dilapidated house in a neighborhood of million dollar homes. I will never get to go on wonderful, relaxing trips to all those places people show on that awful Facebook—everyone in my family travels except me. Oh well.

To assuage my fears, I will dream away of things I want to do, weird items I want to buy at thrift stores around town. Yesterday, I made it over to the antique store on S. High and made a beeline down to the basement to the room I used to prowl through in the ‘90s. The dealer who used to be there wasn’t, but I met the current occupant who was delightful and had a pair of bronze baby shoes that I scooped up. Hat tip to Bron-Shoe Co.! But oh how delighted I was to find waaaaay back in the basement that dealer I had been seeking! He sells a strange assortment of items from old houses and just strange stuff period. I fished out a Steel Tire whatchamacallit and got it for $4. I love it.

Also to fight this fear, I’m going to start reading the New York Times editorial board, but I’m definitely taking that with a grain of salt. I’ll be reading the Wall Street Journal too—I want Michael to purchase some Marathon stock for me. My thinking is maybe by reading, my own writing can improve and I can go back to my book. The New York Times has been after me for years to get a digital subscription (same with the Columbus Dispatch), but they are waaaaaay too pushy with their agendas. Wonder what the Washington Post is up to? Probably peddling fear too. And me thinks the Puppet Master has a desk in the basement there. (Lol)

So I’m listening to Q-FM and they are talking about how betting is now legal in Ohio. The only part I picked up is how the Ohio General Assembly is getting their cut of the proceeds then purportedly “distributing” it to some cooked-up educational fund. Hmmmmmm. Perhaps a money trail for me to follow? Wonder what frightening things that path reveals? Or might it be tame? I’m intrigued. Let the gamblers have their fun, I will have mine on the cheap too!

Now one thing I am truly frightened of is I can see across from me that the baseboard to the right of the TV is showing water damage again…the poison ivy on the side of the house has obviously become a problem again, or maybe it’s the gutters…I’m panicking about having to move again, but no, I won’t go there because my anxiety gets amped up and then we have problems. No, I have to stay calm and not lose my wits. Stay alert, see my endocrinologist today, work on my art at mom’s, go out to dinner tonight with mom, Jane and Jack. I’m curious where my art goes this year…definitely have collage in mind, marrying concepts and technologies. I know, I know, religion plays a part. Maybe try to help folks find their way back to some church that isn’t meddling in politics, wherever that is.

No, I don’t like being afraid, it is so, so unlike the “me” I was before I got diagnosed with bipolar. I was fearless, no anxiety, no sense of trauma, feeling happy and full of promise. How do I get back in touch with that “me” who felt good (raging alcoholism aside, winkedy, wink)? I guess that’s my new “job” now, to figure out how a middle-aged, disabled woman can laugh, feel fearless and do that in some way not already thought up in a Mad Men commercial. Stay tuned.