Mother %&@ Maudlin Frydaz – I

This idea came to me this evening, as I was waiting for my landlord to bring me the key, so I could get back into my lovely cave. I realized I had locked myself OUT of my apartment, not 1 second, perhaps 3, after I had closed the door at 11:30am this morning, as I was on my way to the hospital to get my tailbone finally looked at. That is when I knew for absolute certain, today was going to try to detract me from my primary mission, right from the first. literally. Today of course being Friday the 13th, was a roller coaster ride of “lets see if we can totally mess ol’paulab up more“, kind of day. It tried, and it tried, but no dice.

Oh, now, life had its way with me ALL f’en week. But not today. Nope. Not today. The wind blew, the air was icy, I had to walk to the bus. Ugh. Slowly I sauntered along with my sore tail dragging along behind me. Making itself known. Shooting pain every once in a while up the back of you makes one twinge.

Sometimes you just have to swerve off that path to gather in supplies, get the car checked out, in order to keep you stable and grounded. Than go get some ME time afterwards, with a stop downtown to meet up with a good friend to drink coffee and catch up; cause did I have some catching up to do. Home by 8pm.

Safe, snug, warm, sore, and content. In that order.

Tidal Pools of Emotion

Tidal Pools

After of course breaking through the shite that found me at the hospital to begin with…the festival of “lets frack Paula up” began with trying to get some medical professional to check me out, and NOT have a complete blawdy breakdown right there half-naked in the hospital gown, sitting alone on a hospital bed, after having some MALE indifferent Doctor poke around with his finger in the general region of my tailbone. Perhaps I was projecting, but…nice. Just exactly what I want to be doing.

Whilst this afternoon sitting alone in this curtained corner, staring at nothing, within this horrid rectangular “pod” of the New Vic. {gives me shivers still}… feeling like some naughty child…I realized I was on the brink of a full-blown panic attack.

LET THERE BE ORDER

Standing there looking out the front window of that old house that houses my humble abode, waiting to return to my nest, I came to realize there was something missing in my life. Me.

The new Vic holds so many bittersweet memories – when Tim was getting this radiation/chemo cycle in the late winter, early spring of 2012. So many things. The people we met, the anxiety, the laughs, the sadness and tears. And then all that came afterwards…all was being held at bay so I could deal with this current crap that was haunting my tailbone.

I’m alone now. I can either love it or hate it. It’s irrelevant which one I feel at any given moment…as I realize that both are authentic, both are me. Both are necessary for me, if I’m to express who I am, what I am. A creative soul craves chaos, because they see it as a necessary aspect of creation…and as yin and yang balance each other, chaos and order are necessary aspects of the artistic life. Mistakes matter because they define you, they help you grow, they help you adapt, they strengthen the edges of your soul.

On that note, I have also learned recently I need more order. I need to keep my eye on that more. Keep routines, make lists, write stuff down, enjoy whatever it is that you enjoy, and all the rest of it will fall into place. And it keeps the predatory wolves at bay too. GROWL.

Ideas are born in chaos

After the debacle that was my Friday the 13th, I hereby begin a series of weekly posts for an indefinite time period. And the topics will range, and weave, and be sometimes merry, sometimes maudlin, sometimes musical, or perhaps all of those. I may write about literature, history, geneology, archaeology, or perhaps review a book, or wax on about some genre I love. I may rant, I may rave. I may write whatever I want. ALL for me. For me myself and I alone.

I concluded as I was standing there earlier waiting to return to my bachelor domicile, that regardless of whether it gets posted Thursday, Friday, or Saturday…it will apply to someone or other that may read this blog…{in all the various ways you can interpret that statement apply}.

Tonight I began again to collect those supplies I referred to, by stopping into my favourite used bookstore :ATTIC BOOKs: downtown London, ON – I found Tolkien’s ‘The Hobbit‘ and ‘Finn Mac Cool“, by Morgan Llywelyn…haven’t read either in almost 25 years now. Nummy. I’m due for another round of both. I was like…oooooo…I must take you with me my lovelies.

And for the cherry on top, I found J.R.R. TOLKIEN: A BIOGRAPHY, by Humphrey Carpenter. Oh me, oh my. AND, there’s pictures of his family, pictures of him as a child, with his parents, pictures of where he grew up. Ooooooo, delicious.

Inside Covers

Inside Covers
Can NOT wait to read this book.

Nowadays it is fashionable to regard the Inklings, the handful of men who met at Magdalen on Thursday nights in the nineteen-thirties and forties, as a homogeneous group of writers who exercised an influence over each other. Whether or not you subscribe to this view you may, if you are passing through Oxford, decide to visit the graves of the three best known Inklings, C.S. Lewis, Charles Williams, and J.R.R. Tolkien.[from J.R.R.TOLKIEN: A biography, by Humphrey Carpenter.]

Were else, BUT in a used bookstore could you possibly hope to find these 3 things together on the same bookshelf. Nuzzled up beside so many other delightful things, I had to walk back up to the counter to pay without looking either left or right, for fear of seeing something else. I had captured my lovelies, and I didn’t want to risk them being enticed away from me, as I had set a budget for myself of $20.

Tim used to do that when we were low on cash, but needed gas. $20 can always get you till the next time you have another $20. Funny after this day from shite I should be reminded of something valuable that Tim taught me. Teeter-tooter, teeter-tooter, and so goes these last 13 days of this December.

Fractured, but not broken

Fractured, but not broken

Atleast I got my hospital bracelet out of the whole hospital debacle. That’s something. Not the note from a Doctor I set out for, but it will have to do. I barely made it out with my sanity. I also gathered tonight a breakfast Burrito from Mac’s convenience, a protein shake, AND a crueller donut from Tim Horton’s…each and every one a necessary element to my restoration of order.

This evening I will merrily peruse through Tolkien, and a story about one of Celtic Ireland’s greatest characters of history. That book was one of the first I ever read of those ancient stories.

A restoration of order…I’m due.

from FINN MAC COOL by Morgan Llywelyn

Here’s my tale.
Stag cries, winter snarls, summer dies.
High and cold the wind.
Low and dull the sun, and brief its run.
Strong surge the seas.
In red-brown bracken, shapes lie hidden.
Geese sing, fleeing south, ice on wing.
That’s my tale.

When Finn stopped speaking, Don said, “Brrrr! That’s made me colder than I was already.”

The poet smiled, flattered.

I’m inspired by the gaudy strength and swooning nature of that prose. It’s inspiring for me somehow. I guess the poets are often inspired by the history and philosophy of myth and legend, as well as inspired by the environment that surrounds them.

Ah yes…friends bring wisdom…much wisdom & advice was given to me by a friend earlier in the evening… I felt compelled to pass it along.

And sisters are great, and mighty.

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