Chaos theory
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if, for once, I didn't do what people expect me to: run errands, finish a project, message them first to say hello, babysit to give them a break, show up for work, take an insult and say nothing, be unselfish with my time and money, take responsibility.
Other people are allowed to do these things but I'm not and so I won't. If I did, I'd upset the established order of things. Nature handles these sorts of disturbances in a particularly cruel manner and knowing where I stand in the overall chain, I'm not prepared for the repercussions.
Ashes to ashes
While most of us fretted over when to baste the turkey or watching football, they were outside as a family, working diligently and happily, raking. It appeared to be a losing battle since the winds of late November which rarely sweep through Georgia were swaying the trees, shaking free the last lingering leaves, working to recover the barren grass with the natural blanket that had been suddenly drawn back, exposing the brown blades to the coming cold.
Later, savoring the sight and smell of the year's first leafburning in their backyard as dusk fell, I gave thanks for my friendly, hardworking neighbors across the street, lighting the inky night with the warm glow of a flame fueled of natural embers, of spending a day outside together, bonding.
Alone together
Last night I took the liberty of cruising to the downtown ATL record shop, which is actually one of those big chain bookstore/record/coffee places, where I buy all my classic late '50s-mid '60s era Blue Note jazz reissue CDs and treated myself to six new/old albums. Since I haven't bought myself anything fun that was just for me in a while, I reckoned I could part with the cash this go-round because it's been a terrible week for me. Call these comfort CDs.
The haul? Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers, Andrew Hill, Lee Morgan, Donald Byrd and Herbie Hancock - all stuff from the days when jazz artists took the craft seriously and elevator music composers like Kenny G. hadn't shamed the genre with their pap.
So Saturday night it was just me and my records, which suited me fine. Lots of my friends and relatives aren't happy staying home on a weekend night, hanging out with themselves. If they aren't out in the mix, they think they're missing out on something huge. Maybe it's weird, and I like going out with my friends, but being alone with me is cool too. And when I have the kind of music that I and I alone really love - like classic Blue Note jazz - for company, that's all I need.
Today my family visited and we had fun, talking and joking and catching up. But the quiet times when it's just me and my records and all I have to listen to is the stereo speakers softly slipping their sounds my way - it's the best kind of alone without feeling lonely.
Shoot the messenger
Honesty isn't always the best policy.
Fall down
And now I hate to see them already lying on the ground. Their lives, already short, have served their purpose and brown death quickly claims them. Wind cruelly hastens their demise. They desperately cling to each branch with the fiercest tenacity nature allows, the final remnant of autumn's masterwork. But the palette has gone dry.
Shells of their former selves now, just last week they were a shock to my system.
Chase all the ghosts
Last week I came too close to taking the first step back into the kind of depression that forced me to get help three years ago. Thanks to my meds, this time I was able to keep a clear head about what was bothering me and they (and I) kept me from slipping.
It's one of the things you live with, knowing that you'll be fine for a long time and then suddenly things happen in your life that can threaten to set you back. You hope that you learned something from the last time you were depressed and that the next time won't be as difficult or as long-term, that you'll be a little more in control.
The bullet has been dodged for now. But you're always in the sights of this mysterious sniper.
What's expected
I don't have all that many options when it comes to doing things that I want to do. Most things have been decided for me in one way or another and no one asked me how I felt about that or what I wanted. This isn't the case for some other people in my family. My responsibilities offer them freedom.
You get tired of not having choices.
