Monday, March 9, 2009

Daylight, Wasting Time

It's Monday, evening.  I thought I would have posted earlier, thought about it all day.  Funny, what I may have written earlier somewhat has passed, such is the stream of consciousness, always flowing, never a drought.  That the headwaters up stream may be polluted at times just not a concern.  I'll deal.  So, day one of daylight savings time.  Have we really saved any daylight.  Lose some in the morning, gain some at night.  So damn relative.  The day started dark, literally and figuratively.  It's been two weeks to the day, almost to the hour, since the ex left amidst mixed blessings.  I'm told it's for the best, I guess I agree but right moves don't inherently mean they are always pleasant.  We'll see.  She was promiscuous to a fault, or was it a fault.  It came cloaked in a sexuality that was like a drug.  Perhaps I'm just having withdrawals.  I'm moving on but I still lapse in to missing her, is that weak or being sensitive.  I think it's joined at the hip to how I'm feeling about my life at that moment of reflection.  Is love an on/off switch?  Another ex-girlfriend said I was a bad transition child.  Perceptive if not prescient but then she was a bright girl.  I guess it's a question of perspective.  The relationship with the current ex was a dysfunctional one at it's best but it worked on some level; awash in a sea of alcohol as it was.  Each of our expectations were minimalist, some could argue it was a true a modern romance.  What do we want in a relationship, we may think we know but do we really. Okay, daylight savings time, right, started out dark.  Had my habitual if not obligatory cigarette on the very short drive to the 7:00 a.m. 'eye opener', as it's aptly called, meeting.  No smoking on the grounds of this former elementary school, it's still municipal property.  Just knowing I won't be able to have one for an hour makes it sensible to have one before I get there.  Ya, right.  I never finish it, always field strip what's left and put it in my coat pocket.  Just something inherently bad about tossing it on the pavement.. Sort of like biting the hand that feeds you.  They provide a healthy, free service and you shit on them by littering their parking lot no matter how small the transgression.  As a teenager, a very different individual then than now... or so I would like to think,  I/we would always toss refuse out the car with the misguided, albeit humorous, logic that we were keeping the maintenance or sanitation department employed, our contribution to a civic duty. I can only chalk that up to youth.  That was pre-military.  The meeting, right.  Typical meeting, it was good.  They are all quite similar, fungible if you will, but good.  Rife with tales of change, positive ones, but always preceded by the conditions that led to the change.  Some days the stories cast a pall of depression over me, looking at the past, a past.  Other days they are a foundation on which the positive aspects of the building blocks of change are built.  Just so damn funny; no, read ironic, how perception changes.  I'm a believer in the chemical imbalance theory, how else could the same stories produce different conclusions and evoke different emotions.  Okay, the day, right.  The one we're saving all that daylight in.  It progressed to the next milestone of the day, my weekly therapist rendezvous.  I came in glowing like a ten year old who just gotten a gold star on a penmanship paper.  Couldn't wait to tell her I had started a blog.  She's somewhat a neo-luddite, vaguely heard of what a blog was.  I quickly explained, it is only an hour, and it goes quick; real quick.  Then she reverted to her forte.  Why did you do this?  Good question, not altogether unexpected if I had thought about it, but maybe I was saving the thought process of the answer until I was in her presence; it would be fresh, unscripted.  The unvarnished truth, honesty as the ultimate virtue.  I want her to do her job, to do it well.  Garbage in, garbage out.  I want her to know who I am.  And after intelligently fumbling for a moment, that was my answer to her pointed question.  I want people to know who I am, me.

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