Was that Hello Again or Halogen?
A few nights back I left a small halogen bulb light on next to my computer. When I was in the other room getting sucked in to a television show, the light decided to break for whatever reason. It fell down and landed on my computer mouse.
When I found it, the heat had melted a pit into the back of the mouse and the whole conglomeration was quite hot. I think it was within seconds of bursting into flames.
I have noticed that my monitor won't hold a "white" tone, It kind of shifts in and out of bluish to whitish.
My car needs new motor mounts and tires, and I have no idea where the money is going to come from to fix my link to the outside world.
Sunday I spent in a glum mood, perhaps from concern over these material things or perhaps from hormone fluctuations. I watched some of Dr. Wayne Dyer's presentation in support of Public Television. In one part he said we all should follow our heart no matter what anyone else said or thought about us, because how true we lived to ourselves was going to be the most important aspect of our lives as we grew more toward the end of it. It seems right now that I have never been more unsure of what following my heart, following my bliss means to me. But then, he is a white male and gets his privilege served to him on a golden plate of hegemony.
I go to work at one job in a concrete closet, isolated from any human contact. My other work is linked to the past in a way that raises the question; if all I am to do is return to that which injured my body for the money to survive and pay my debts, then the debt and expense of college was yet another worthless ploy to transfer my wealth and privilege to someone else.
Yet, even in the face of isolation on many levels, I doggedly mail out prospecting material, maintain an attitude that good must prevail in the end, and forcefully drag myself to things, like the concrete closet job, which are having serious psychological consequences that appear to be growing beyond my control.
4:44 this morning I awake with the "fears" charging the horses of the chariot. My life is not in my control. I can't see the driver. What can I do? I pray of course, and hope.
The halogen lamp sits propped up against my shelf illuminating my keyboard. It is a disabled bird, a crumpled newspaper, we can see its form but its not whole.