Ten Days to Bratt, or She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain

Things move along toward the DRB meeting next Monday. A flurry of local media is gearing up its coverage. My stomach is knotted, I think from now til this is over. In 10 days I'll be going back, whether to my home or to the Muffinpants' house who knows. But I'll be back in Bratt. I think I'll be leaving part of me here, too.

Other things have been taking my time this morning, but it's all good. There come points in stress when a sudden truth, awful as it is, strikes you as funny. And not just funny, painfully, hysterically, tearfully funny. The funny that won't go away for hours because it's in your guts and somewhere behind your eyes and throats and lungs. I believe it's also known as "Losing It". Because it is a glimpse of perfect insanity,when life is so obviously and pointlessly ridiculous that all you can do is laugh. If you laugh for a day that's good. If you laugh for a week, that's bad.

Everyone I know well is clinging to sanity, some comfortably, some by their fingernails. The world is too much with us, a wise guy said. There's too much to handle on a daily basis. I don't think so. I think it's kind of the opposite. You see, if you're not paying attention it becomes a habit like any other. Then, when something happens that you can't ignore, it's overwhelming. So it's a bad habit. You're getting reinforced that knowing what's going on is too much to stand. Whereas, if you've been following things, it's just some worse fresh hell to mix into the old fresh hells.

And knowledge is so crucial to compassion.

And so is humor. It should be fun to fight the bastids, right?

I want to add something Quentin Crisp said when I commented that he had nicer fingernails than I did, "Darling, I have to have them to cling on with sometimes!"