I had an event two days ago that created some strange behavior on my part. I feel, as regards this event, from a global distance, that it shows me erratic, and likely frightened. Frightened? Yes. End of life is the story that is the backstory increasingly more so daily. It has no discernible time table or specific rhythm – it is triggered more frequently than last year and certainly more frequently than when I turned seventy. God. I’m even afraid of putting the numbers on the page. The digits.
So regarding that event which was, fortunately it only lasted one night and a small fearful anticipated repeat the next night, a back spasm. A light (lite) spasm in the back central thoracic spine area, to the left by three inches. And it …I am chuckling to myself, ruefully, sardonically, bitterly …it was not only light by standards I’ve experienced before, maybe a dozen times in my sixty adult years, in that the spasm were as much sixty seconds apart. And lite. I emphasize that because I have a premonition than when the real trials of old age, with deteriorated organs, balance, mobility, digestive problems etcetera start in earnest to present themselves, that I will not be up to the challenge. I am yellow.
I’ve never really understood my psychical affinity to yellow the color. Some relate cowardice to yellow. In my case, at least up until today, I have thought of yellow as allegro, as active in a positive way, unlike colors that may be aligned with melancholia or anger or play, charm, ascendance and transformation color responses. Half of my walls are yellow. The other grey. For me grey or gray means childhood. Gray skies of Denmark. For me gray is also balance which is why warm grays annoy me. I have the same annoyance with cold grays like battleships. Concrete, that’s a neutral gray and I like it so much that in my middle class neighborhood, living in a 1960s built red brick apartment building (twelfth floor). What a word! Have you lately tried writing out that number? TWELFTH. Is that not an astonishingly complicated and consonant-rich short word?! I have stripped parts of a wall down of plaster down to raw concrete.
By the way I am mildly stoned, under the influence of marijuana. How I like, no LOVE that THC whatever magic that is in its cannabidiol chemistry. This means that I’m likely to flit from one subject to another dependent on my unleashed associative prefrontal cortex. I thought to just pique your academic side by fronting myself to understand, however simplistically, the cerebral convolutions of the brain. I don’t. I, from twenty years of psychotherapy, think more BEHAVIOR than FUNCTION. In other words neuroscientists, like Eric Kandel, look at the brain for functions, when he sets up measurement dependent experiments with electrodes at every square inch of skull. It is not what the other neuroscientist Oliver Sacks sees, he sees behavior of the psyche. Not Sachs (it is a telling difference the h or the k in Sacks or Sachs –– the h, to my mind, is Gentile while the k is Jew, but then I’m not an anthropologist or a linguist.)
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