ORIENTED
…for the first time in two years
…for the first time in my life
I finally picked up the time that I lost in Reading after I met the ALIEN in October of 2021 here in the cottage from which I am sending this message. I had it as 5 days in the woods. I am hearing now about 14 days to warm up after almost freezing to death. I cannot validate this and if they say it didn’t happen well then I guess that it didn’t. But if I was left in the woods to die in the middle of December then it probably would take a long time to thaw. Nobody wants me now. I got so ugly. I just realized as I said it that that is the problem.
It’s not just the “mole-wart” removal. It’s the frostbite. They said that I turned blue.
And then as I woke up I completely changed and forgot everything. They thought I was MPD (multiple personality disorder) because I kept forgetting everything and changing.
None of the psychiatrists would see me–I was seen by a nurse practitioner.
My father was furious with me. About the ALIEN incident that put me in the hospital. Or was it about the getting lost in the woods? I believe it was in the news. Something was, all that I know is that a woman said “She was in the news” as I passed by her on the sidewalk out shopping.
Since then I have been blocking all of this.
When I returned from Philhaven I dove into cleaning this place up but then after the worst of it was done and I had implemented new appliances, beautiful lamps, a glass table, and some other touches, I was waiting on my father’s help to hire an electrician and a handyman to do some work to complete the job and I forgot what I what I was waiting for or even that I was waiting for anything and life got very tense and boring until I cracked open last night and started to remember those beautiful moments when some very special people held me and cradled me back to life.
segue…
The problem is that I do not realize my age. I’m getting a little better at this. But I got stuck on some deep traumas early in my life that I am only now able to look back on and nowhere before was there ever a chance to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
12;35
segue…
my father is a true poet
in a way that I am not.
Lily Briscoe
in “To the Lighthouse”
by Virginia Woolf
said “Women can’t paint, can’t write.”
(quoting someone else) (a man, of course)
I have always been daunted by that.
Lily Briscoe was a painter.
Mr. Ramsay, the husband, was a philosopher. I remember this above everything else I ever read.
He said, He couldn’t get past R.
One man in a generation gets to Z.
Someone had blundered.
Mrs. Ramsay who went to others as a “dark wedge”
comforted him.
Lily couldn’t do that.
It was always about Mrs. Ramsay’s death.
And now my mother has died.
And we are all lost.
Or has she? This makes it so much worse.
END OF POST 5:23 p.m.
Un.Bon.Mot 