Tag Archives: Consciousness

This, I can tell you. It’s true.

 

It is difficult to determine.

Anymore.  Whether.

The things I think are true.

It probably has something.

To do with age, I see my grandmother.

In me.  Right now.   She walks, unsteadily.

With a cane, the folds of skin.

That once contained a plump woman.

Shaking.  With each step.

Around the arm.  Holding her stick.

It also might have something to do with my muscular dystrophy.

I have read that this form messes with the executive.

 Function.  Of the mind.

That seems to be my experience.

Oh, Word Location, you bedevil me.

But, it definitely seems.

Due to the many times.

In life, I have had to shift my thinking.

To which, of the many minds I have been?

Does this line belong?

I know I once believed this.

But, was that an illusion?

2014-01-14

A beautiful day in Tempe.

Desert sky.

Winter’s bright blue glare.

An easily love affair.

I will now observe a moment of silence. 

Shorts and a sweatshirt.  

A mid-January,  Arizona,  fortune.

...

I’m feeling better, too.

Rebound!

I haven’t published anything in over a week, although, I have been writing every day.

The effects of my MD are inversely related to my ability to think and operate lucidly.

On my bad days, I write.  But, personal therapy is not for sharing.

I write because I know.  I will feel better, again, soon.

And because yesterday’s experience will help me navigate today.

The benefit of daily of journaling is the mindful comparison of this effort to my previous.

And of this effort to my best.

What went well for me today?  What did not?

What did I do to contributed to the result?  And, what did I do to undermine myself?

Were my behaviors conducive to my goals?  Or was I a destructive influence on my own audition?

And, what lessons can I categorize into a general understanding?

An approach to life.

Going forward — should I shift my stance?

My biggest growth as a writer comes from my journal.  It is the playing field where I hone my craft.

As a child I spent many afternoons hitting pitches and throwing and catching balls.

I never thought of it as practice.  I was playing and improving.  They are one and the same in the presence of mind.

It’s a biologically programmed behavior.  Boys play without even realizing, someday soon, success might win the attention of a girl.

But, we don’t play because we want to be noticed.

And, when it’s not fun I am noticed for the wrong reasons.

Now I write, because swinging a bat while remaining on my feet is too difficult.

But.  Also.

Writing is fun.

However.

Fun, for me, is learning about myself, and preparing for success on a given day.

Because.

Success is not hit-or-miss.  Success comes from aiming, followed by a hit or a miss.

Then stepping back.

And assessing.

When I learned team sports, the coaches would always have us stretch and warm-up before practice.

But, on my own I learned that stretching was typically easier after the workout, with muscles already limber.  And the benefit of the stretch would last longer.  Typically deep into the following day.

I didn’t notice then that I would also use the stretching to meditate.

On what I did, and how I felt.  I was judging, during my cool-down, how I performed.

What went well, and what surprised me, if anything?

Now I am an older man.  And I realize the mental benefits of assessing each performance, from day-to-day, are better than the physical.

I would rather write badly today than not write at all.  I know that tomorrow will probably be better.

And if I do write badly, but identify a cause, I increase the probability.

Tomorrow will be better.

Because I am changing my game-plan as I speak, to handle better handle the contingencies and nuances of life.

I’m no good at that is the mindset of child.

I can get better at this is the mindset of an adult.

And my journal is where I observe myself growing.

2013-12-27

=== 3:39 PM ===

XB

Big table near the piano.  Facing North.

The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

I went to the clinic in Scottsdale to renew my medical marijuana card.  Have to be approved by a physician.  In the past I have been seen by the blond woman.  She seemed to be doctorly.  Today I had a different guy.

He just didn’t look like a doctor.  Medical clothing aside, nothing about him said doctor.  His hair was slicked back.  His face said, ”Party hard.”  A tough outer crust acquired through experience and genetics.

He didn’t speak like a doctor, either.

When I was conferring with the receptionist before hand, she was saying that the approval would be based on when they get the latest records from Mayo Clinic.  But, while I was waiting to see the ‘doctor’, the receptionist calls out to me that the he  had approved my application based on what was on file.

As I figured they should.  My renewal shouldn’t be based on the last time I saw Dr. Strudel.  My last visit with him was just a basic neurological exam to see the changes over the course of six months.

As I sat down in his office, Dr. Gary-as-Guido Busey introduced himself and said he had reviewed my records.   He began asking me about the pain I experience.  So I told him about it.  Just enough.  And then he says something about fibromyalgia.  I was confused.  He thinks I have fibromyalgia.

No.  Fibromyalgia was an initial guess by neurologist #2.  Dr. Slicker had not read my records.  He had only glanced at the first page of notes from neurologist #2.  When I told him I had myotonic dystrophy, he wrote it on the form.  It seems that the fibromyalgia comment was just a hook on a bobber.  Testing the waters for an ancient fish known as correct information.  Who knows?  Maybe the guy can’t read.

Sitting down, almost the first thing from his mouth was that we shouldn’t be abusing our bodies with pharmaceuticals.  “Marijuana is much better for the the liver and the kidneys.”  I don’t disagree.  But, before we had gotten into the specifics of the condition that would warrant this medication, he was already hyping the drug that needs none.  My impression.  A pusher camouflaged in medical garb.

The consultation ended with some questions about my pain on a scale of 1 to 10.  I told him enough to help him understand a bit about the condition.  The extremes.  And a look at the average.

The visit ended when the doctor got up and came to my side.  Just when my hand was on his desk and the other gripped my cane, he stuck for a shake.

This has happened to me on several occasions now.  Time to shake hands, and I’m not allowed to first rise.  I don’t like that.  I feel I should stand to shake, especially if the other person is already on his feet.  Standing and thrusting a hand downwards, obstructing my attempt to get up, is disabling.  Next time it happens I need to remember to smile and excuse myself.  “Please allow me to first stand.”  A polite way to handle the situation.  And directly speaking to the awkwardness of the moment without making it personal.

=== 4:54 PM ===

Break.  Sudoku.  Unfinished.

The kids who work this coffee shop seem to take turns selecting music.  Sometimes it’s a satellite feed.  Others, it’s an mp3 collection.  Or a CD.  Right now it’s a song from the nineties.  But, a paragraph ago they were playing something new.  It was offbeat enough to catch my ear and make me listen.  Not the type of song I would keep.  But, fun in that previous moment.

It’s good to hear what other people like.  To share an experience.  Probably 20 to 30 people here.  Maybe closer to 40 with the smokers appropriating the patio.

We’re each engaged in separate behaviors.  Some are talking.  Others are reading.  Still others are writing.  And, in the background we are all hearing the same music.  We’re all feeling the same rhythm.  The brain taps signals to muscles for groovy songs.  Dance!  How many others feel the same compulsion?  How many others turn their ears and listen?

We can rule out the talkers.  Can’t talk and listen.  Mom told us that.  But.

Everyone else is suspect.

I said I wouldn’t keep the song.  And, I wouldn’t.  Because, experience tells me this one won’t keep.  It’s a good listen in the moment, but not to hear again and again.  A lot of songs in my collection are like that.  I bought them because once they sounded fresh and interesting.  And, I didn’t stop to ask, how will the tenth time play?  Will I be bored?

Consciousness is recalling choices in front of the evening fire.  After-effects.  Just recalling images from the day.

I guess I have an image of a song that won’t keep.  General enough to use against songs I have never heard before.  A sieve catches the impurities.  Leave me just the good ones.  Music to study again and again.  How tends my mood when I select this song?  And, am I drawn to the artist?

Stereotypes of faces and songs.  We all have them.  Are we paying attention as the stereotypes are employed?  We all use them.  But, behind every stereotype is an unique individual.

If Dr. Playground Pusher happens to read this, please consider my use of stereotypes a constructive form of criticism.

P.S.  I call him Dr. Strudel.  It’s a stereotype.  But, he’s quite the clinician.  The clues to the puzzle guide his thinking.  It is not intended as a disparaging term.