The Human Race

The universe is 13.7 billion years old according to a documentary written by Stephen Hawking.

Every now and then I think about that. I ponder it and in that moment I can see all the way from the start to the present to the end and if I’m lucky I can detach myself from this story I call my life and say, “Wow.” Frankly, I wish I could do that more often. Frankly, I wish that were my normal state of being.

I just got back from reprimanding my dog, Anij, from eating the cat food--again. She only started doing it recently--I won’t go into the specifics--but it’s been driving me nuts over the last few days and I have to babysit her downstairs all the time now or she’ll purposefully follow me, make sure I’m busy (say in the bathroom), then sneak to it, eat it all as fast as possible, then lay back down and pretend not to have been gone. She knows she’s been doing it. She knows I know she’s been doing it. But the benefit of getting away with it outweighs the consequences...so now it’s going to take me several weeks to remove a behavior that wasn’t an issue...and I wish I could just sit on a hill and meditate on the sunrises and sunsets (well, mostly the sunsets).

I want to put aside time to write in my journals again. I want to take time to put notes. I want what I have to say to be worth reading. And I want you to get something out of it, something more than checking on me to see if I’m still alive or checking on me because you’re lonely and everyone else has taken advantage of you (and you know I won’t), more than I’ve died and you’re trying to make sense of it.

Where did my coffee go?

I probably shouldn’t be drinking it so late. It makes me anxious. I shouldn’t be drinking it at all. But I like the taste. I like that it takes away the first sense of anxiety I have during the day. I met with one of my many doctors yesterday and he indicated to get off one of the medications I’ve been trying to will possibly cause me to feel this way for months. I don’t know if I can do that. The last few months have quite literally felt like six. I can barely believe it was only November a few months back, that I’ve only had a dog for a few months. I feel like I’ve lived with her for at least a year. I wonder, perhaps, if much of this is because I’m psychically tuned into someone for whom the world turns very slow, the byproduct of young age and even younger perspective.

Tomorrow will be a full day. I’m going to attempt getting up early and heading into work. I have a doctors appointment which will take me away. I will also be leaving to volunteer for OPB. That and volunteering at the homeless shelter every few months are the only volunteer opportunities I am involved in since I left--or was ostrasized, after a fashion, from my spiritual community. I’d like to be involved in more but I have come to believe that a species that picks and chooses who it cares for doesn’t exactly deserve to be cared for by people who very much need such support and don’t get it when they ask. Put another way, there are certain groups of people who by default get our sympathy, understanding, and support, like an unemployed, homeless mother--but a homeless, unemployed father gets less sympathy, understanding, and support. Try being an employed employed man with few to no support systems most of his life, with a chronic illness, with various other challenges, and, well, I’m lucky to have a job and I’m lucky for things like Netflix or I think I’d loose my marbles.

Anyway, I want to get some more programming done before my partner arrives then not sure what the plans are for the evening except I know I’m going to take it pretty easy.

.a