It is distressing to find that I have been living a stream-of-consciousness life for at least the past 6 months to a year. I am assuming that it has a lot to do with the severity of my depression during that time, but one never knows… I am hoping that it is my mental state, which has the possibility of remedy, and not my age, which does not.
What I mean by stream-of-consciousness in this case is not so much any success at being present “in the moment” (although I wish it were), but rather my lack of control over what my mind chooses to engage in, how long it stays engaged, whether it will engage in anything at all, and how long it will remember anything about its previous engagements. My mind, it seems, is not my own. Through what I have studied about Buddhism — my sociological opiate of choice — I am not to expect to have any real control over the monkeys in my mind-tree. Rather, I am supposed to smile indulgently at their antics and get on with being all here in the now, all one with the oneness. My angst arises from the fact that even my tree seems to want to vanish, move about, stick “kick me” signs on my back, etc.
I want to run away a lot. Not really, of course. I love too many people too dearly to truly want that. I do wish for some disconnect, however. I think that I tie the limbs of my tree to so many people, places, things that I am in danger of allowing myself to be drawn and quartered into logs. Hopefully, should this happen, I will provide at least a cord of firewood for my loved ones. :)
Of course, the worry-wort in me keeps knocking on wood, crossing her fingers and wishing on stars and successfully-blown dandelion fuzz that it isn’t *gasp* Alzheimers. As if I need something else to worry about. Dammit, which one of you monkeys threw that one at me?
You’re starting to worry me kiddo. I think maybe we need to have a chat… lunch sometime?