My current preceptor's gone missing again, ah well. Meanwhile people steadily alight on my blog via a small handful of images that I posted one time or another, usually, Woodstock (the fiddle-playing Peanuts bird), a painting of Tinker Bell and Peter Pan, Botticelli's Birth of Venus. I don't understand what that means and wish I could figure it out. Are people purposely accessing my blog via an image shortcut? Or are people the world over googling, say, woodstock, and for whatever reason, my blog comes up near the top of search results and they choose to stop? (Seems so unlikely.) They don't seem to stay awhile and read, it's just hit-and-run page hits. Since I don't know how to interpret these page hits, I don't like them, because they seem random, not a person out of some genuine curiosity or following a little trail, happening on my blog and finding it a pleasant destination. But I absolutely cherish and treasure when I sense that a reader, whether via RSS feed or whatever, seems to enjoy my blog for itself... Anyway, administrative meeting over, my darlings, it's just one of those constant daily puzzles I can't seem to figure out that just gnaws at me in my rather disconnected, overly self-referential world.
Which was what I was reading about this afternoon in the McGilchrist, a description of how schizophrenia and the modernist view of the world aren't dissimilar. Honestly, I was starting to feel a bit hypochondriachal on that score myself as I sat at my desk reading and every few minutes obsessively refreshing the blogger stats page. My god!
So before starting to blog (what about, as I ask myself every late afternoon) I made myself get up and go out the door and take a stroll around the house, Gwynnie (spritely tortoiseshell) delighted to keep me company. I stepped through tall, damp, flattened grass. The air is fragrant with today's rain. I heard cardinals and chickadees. I was beneath an enormous sky that was changing color moment by moment. Leaves are mostly off the trees, including the enormous oaks in the meadow across the road. When did those leaves drop? When I wasn't looking. I think they must have come down all at once. I seem to miss that moment every year - one day the oaks are covered with leaves, and next thing I know, they're the "Tim Burton" oaks - gnarly, black, mysterious, vascular behemoths against the eastern sky.
Other thoughts that came to mind - not just today, many days. I know I sometimes, quite often actually allude to my desires... And I know that some people (not those I care about in the least however) might find me bizarre, out there, shocking, too public. But it seems to me that I try to write what I'm feeling, but I like to think that it's ultimately quite natural and charming. Especially given the overly sexualized and cheapened images that are gratuitously flung at us at all moments by mass media. (Or given the absolute obscene abomination that is Sarah P., as far as I'm concerned. But I'll stick to my knitting, and not go into politics. But if I'm radical - then what the hell is she? The ultimate in left brain horribleness. I feel like the Brooke Adams character in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. What am I supposed to do? Of course hide out. Who would have wanted my children? I'm way too right brained for this world - and so it didn't happen. Yes, I could have, should have, adopted, but not on my own I couldn't.)
Anyway. Right. I mostly don't watch TV anymore, very rarely - Tavis Smiley and Charlie Rose on occasion, that's about it. But sometimes at breakfast I put on the TV because I try to sit down with D except that I've developed this aversion to hearing him chew. (It's not new, but has perhaps gotten more acute.) So we sat at our eggs & bacon, and I flipped channels, and of course there's nothing on, it seems we're always sitting down to eat at five-of or twenty-five after - in other words when all stations, whether commercial or public, are in breaks from programming. So I landed on the horrible tableau of GMA, Emeril was on talking about Thanksgiving side dishes. And actually, given the bunch of grotesque fakers he was surrounded with - by whom I mean the GMA hosts - Emeril actually seemed like a pretty good straightforward guy, not the most physically attractive, but he knows what he's talking about, and he was trying to give good info. The rest of them I just found offensive in their complete inanity, but what really sent me over the top was Sam Champion very, very obviously posing lasciviously with an oversize carrot. He stood there holding it at his mouth as though it were - well, not a microphone. It was clearly intentional. And honestly, I found it offensive, because it was so gratuitously sexualized, at that hour ... oh even now I can't go on with this. I yelled at the TV - and Champion (because he was utterly self-aware) looked up with a wide-eyed smirk at the camera (no people, I'm not crazy, I know he wasn't reacting to me...). But really.
I know that Mr. McGilchrist could (and does) wax more eloquently on such matters, but I just feel that in this era of constant youporn imagery (whether one is actively seeking it out or not), to have a perimenopausal woman tell of her longings and desires - how/why would that cause the Left Brainers to have their hands fly to their mouths in shocked disbelief, and have me marginalized as crazy?
Ah - the disgruntlement before Thanksgiving. But you know what? For me, a carrot is just a carrot. Sam, baby, give me the real thing. But - at five to nine in the morning - pas devant les enfants.
Darlings, I am launching this. I love you all, truly.
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