The Classical Blog, Starting With Meta

June 28, 2016 at 10:48 pm Leave a comment

I find myself changing to just that; a diary rather than anything centered around a GRAND PURPOSE of (one presumes) imparting knowledge.  In fact, for one thing, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m if anything an idiot; born and years of practice and all that, you know.  This is variously inspired.  My wife engineered my meeting my erstwhile and presumable family, by which I mean the bastard–me–‘met’ [in Internet terms, no quotidian clasping of sweaty palms but rather the notional replacements for ‘RL’] was able to “meet” one, actually of my (presumable) half-siblings.  Whom I would guess I immediately and then variously disgusted.  I was a sailor and did what sailors did, yes; I was half or more than a spy and…yes, part of my life sounds like a rather bad novel.  When I said diary I didn’t mean easily penetrable by all, at least from what I’ve been repetitively told.

The meeting lasted a few days and then dwindled to silence, at first unendurable and then quite comfortable.  The parents I knew ensured variously that I couldn’t know or trust them, and when they professed love were about to perform cruelty.  My true mother’s last words to me were “Oh, Glenn, I’m so glad I couldn’t have you aborted,” repeating what she’d said just before being carted off to Montana.  My actual reactions were somewhere between “Oh, Mom, too bad you couldn’t have” and “Oh, Mom, how nice and how lovely that you’re leaving!”  Then about 4 years later the military decided I really did have the job I’d claimed, was a Vietnam (war, not era–it mattered very much to them, you see) veteran, really did see the sorts of [censored, so that I don’t pay for this later] I claimed because of the security clearance I so boringly babbled about–I was obviously narcissistic–but then again they weren’t quite sure about what I knew, they had to admit.  Which was sort of a hint to not babble too much more; in light of just that I won’t detail why.  Ask Snowden or someone knowledgeable.

I don’t know what the point of her–my notional half-sister–meeting me was.  I’m going to give an approximation of what we have in common besides some genes.  Nothing.  I’ve spent my entire life thinking about something relatively complicated which would be utterly meaningless to her.  That’s all.

Meta is or was my sister’s name.  For some reason I feel utterly sure I’ll never communicate with her again.  Oddly enough I regret having even wasted the time trying to communicate with her.  But then it was at my wife’s behest.  I’m not angry with her.  I have achieved forming a sort of necessary pattern.  That pattern is, by the way, absolutely not closure, whatever that is.  Whatever ‘it’ is, is open.  I have never made a pattern of this sort and had anyone else even give me the impression that they perceived it.

I got my precious damned Suburban back (the one that saved my life by being what I drove) and part of the body is loose.  I’m less than happy.  I am positive I have to take it back and let them fix it and that it will take a while to fix.

I am receiving steadily more braces which are steadily more constricting and also affect my balance (not my sense of balance) more and more, because managing one’s balance naturally involves the ankle muscles[/tendons] and the braces will obviate being able to use those muscles.  I am losing the struggle and it’s affecting me badly.  There is no escape from this.  That I can’t manage to stop fighting is either very good or ridiculous.  Go ahead and judge, for I cannot.

Entry filed under: chronic pain, Memento Mori, On Truth, Pain, social psychology. Tags: , , .

Back on The Road Again Meeting The Family

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