As the Dryer Spins
My knowledge of celebrities is so limited, I was unaware that Debbie Reynolds was Carrie Fisher’s mother, but I am deeply moved by the passing of two such iconic personalities. Like Carrie Fisher, I am right up front about my mental deficiencies, if that is indeed, what my mania is.
Deficiency? Believe me, there is plenty to go around, in my world. Yesterday’s nineteen-hour affair, was a carbon-copy [And a carbon is what, specifically?] of many other of my days, in that arising between midnight and one in the morning, and fighting for seven o’clock on the other end of the spectrum, makes for a long day.
I wasn’t up for more than an hour, yesterday morning, before I had begun an innocuous little piece on Emma, one of the farm dogs. I love writing about dogs because they are the least complicated critters on earth, if you are willing to give them the one thing they crave: unwavering affection.
They want to be talked to, they want to have their ears scratched, and if they are like Dozer, they will be in ecstasy if you give them a butt scratch, massaging your fingers into their back thighs and upper back, places where bulldog nails can’t reach.
That loppy one-toothed grin on Dozer’s mug, is all I need to see to know that I have achieved success in the butt-scratching department.
With a family gathering in Willits, beginning early in the afternoon, HeadSodBuster and I got started on our four-hour chunk of remodeling, a half-hour earlier than we had been commencing, at seven-thirty. I mean, by that time I had already been up for seven hours, more or less. We were patching in some long-overdue sections of interior siding, and getting it ready to mud.
We were also completing the trim and staining/painting of the interior of the room, and my participation had been limited to four or five hours a day. Much of the work requires that I use my jenky right shoulder, but that is why cannabis was invented, say I.
As a mood spectrum mediator, cannabis brings me down from the high of being manic, or what amounts to being so wide awake, you feel as though you have just had two 20 oz. lattes, with double shots each.
And then you put on the water for your first real cup of coffee.
For good measure this morning, I savored one of the few remaining chocolate squares that came in an assortment of edibles from the Emerald Cup. They had been presented to HappyDay Farms, and then bestowed upon me, by HeadSodBuster and SmallBoy, who both know I have a thing for edibles.
It’s hard to explain but they bring me up.
Mania, bong rip, coffee, edibles, headphones, darkness, wood-fire, bong rip, lemon ogre, social media, headlamp, six hours, Stephenson’s “Kidnaped,” Carrie Fisher’s passing, Leader Malproddunt, social injustice, bong rip, greed, success, much love, politics, Social Security rip-off…they all tumble around in the dryer of my mind, like that television rerun that you have already seen, but can’t drag your eyes away from now.
As the dryer spins, I arbitrarily open the door, and the first subject that tumbles out, is the one I write about. I keep a file of a dozen or so prepared-but-unwritten pieces in my head, ready to be transferred onto “paper,” as soon as I have determined exactly which one I want to bleat on about.
What Carrie Fisher did is reveal that she was not the invincible warrior that she had portrayed in the Star Wars series. She told the world she was bipolar, and that she was not afraid to share that information with the universe.
Instead of criticizing and scorning her, the world embraced her, and effectively removed much of the stigma of being mentally ill. After all, if Carrie Fisher were not afraid to come out and admit it, or even if she were, having mental issues was nothing to be ashamed of, just as having cancer is nothing to be ashamed of.
Like millions of others, I mourn the passing of Ms Fisher, and her mother, but unlike millions of these folks, I have a greater motivation to appreciate what the Princess did because of the bond we shared. If one person reading this feels even a tiny bit better for knowing that I am also mentally deficient, then I will have accomplished what Carrie Fisher did.
I mean, if you are going to be certifiably bat-shit crazy, it’s nice to be in the same company with the likes of Carrie Fisher.