Inside FND

I thought I might die of joy yesterday afternoon at Rollo Park. The sunshine was so lovely, and I loved it particularly because of being on so large an open field of grass. I was transported to places I’d visited in the past in cool weather. I felt wonderful the whole time we played fetch together.

Late in the afternoon, Dan came by is his fancy car, and he had the top down. He never stops. He is go, go, go all the time, and he’s very involved with the LGBTQ+ community. He has been very active with a small group of friends who are sponsoring a lesbian from Afganistan. She has been living with them for quite a while, but now is living with a lesbian couple near the village.

Pinecone Park looks good. I spent a good bit of time outdoors cleaning up the courtyard and getting rid of little things I’d left around. And I did more work in the house, as well, getting rid of spider webs in the ceilings of every room. It was a great day of modest domestic accomplishments and the high of the afternoon in the park.

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Inside FND

I had a friend named Russell when I was a kid, and if you talked to him, and you were excited, his face would mirror yours. He’d silently mimic your expressions. He was triggered by the exuberance of the speaker. Well … you should see me watch a movie. I have a lot of jerking, arm movements, and last night I had a seizure. I am triggered by plot turns. And this movie turned out to be about an adopted orphan who is adopted and abandoned. Talk about triggers. I sit by the window in soft light. Still, I often wonder what passers-by would think if they saw me.

I’m going to have to warn David before we watch our first movie. I can propose titles of films that I’ve already seen.

The film ended horribly. It was grotesquely sad. The villain was a law that recognized internationally adopted children as citizens was not retroactive. Many young adults were torn from their families and deported. The film ended with photographs of people and underneath was their date of adoption and age of deportation.

It hurt me deeply to think of all that suffering. And I close my eyes and I see my soul on fire and this sadness, born of the movie, comes into my soul like a small star on fire, and crashes into the fire in my soul. That’s what I see, and I feel overwhelming sadness for all the all the drama of life, all its sorrows and pain. This is what burned out is: being incapable of controlling one’s over… way over … emotional reactions. 

Intelligence is not winning. It never has. Were intelligence leading us, Christianity would have no political power. But now ignorance has heroes. I can’t take these stories that add to the fire inside me. I am broken from all the stories I have heard. I have no defences left; I am living burnout, and here, I thought that was just and expression of fatigue. I have large and embarrassing physical reactions to a great many things in life or in movie plot turns. I got to pieces. I seize and jerk. And during these things, I’m helpless to control myself. 

David and Paula are in for a bumpy ride—especially David, who’s here for ten days.  But that’s why I’m excited. He’s part of my fantasy family with whom I feel totally comfortable. They are blind to all my symptoms. And here, in Pinecone Park, all nicely decorated for Christmas.

I never took to Santa. I had Jesus, and Jesus trumped Santa. But that’s another story.

Here’s another story: My story begins with a Catholic family. My adopotive mother sent me to Catechism and took me to church. I was also in the Choir (and a soloist) and the cub scout troop that met in the church basement. I loved being Catholic, and I loved Jesus. I made a cape with the word Jesus on it, like Superman, and I ran around the basement making miracles happen.

I grew up thinking that Santa might be an agent of Satan because Santa was killing the story of my saviour. Instead of the wise men, there was Woodwards, Sears, and Eatons and lots of lesser merchants. And Santa and gifts—not to Jesus, but to each other.

I hated Santa. I thought that was the reason I didn’t get many gifts at Christmas. I’d get Mandarin oranges and some money in an envelope.

I remember thinking how easy it was to stop believing in Santa. It hurt me to let go of Jesus. While he was with me, I felt loved and had someone to talk to. I loved that. Jesus was my hero. But I outgrew both him and the church. When I realized I was gay, I gave up on church and ambition.

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Only five more sleeps until David and Paula arrive. I am indifferent about their visit—not! I am so bloody excited! I feel like a kid at Christmas and not the broken old man who I am.

This morning, when I went out for wood, there were thin ribbons of bright pink clouds glowing against and stunning deep blue morning sky. The blue was almost a deep purple because, perhaps, of thin, barely visible clouds catching the pink light. I was stopped in my tracks to admire the beauty above.

Today will be another day to putz, read, walk and spa. Just another normal Winter day at Pinecone Park. True Winter starts in a week.