PSYCHOTIC SATURDAY

I've noticed that the current Blogger trend is to have weekly "theme" days, such as Flashback Friday or Sermonette Sunday. This inspires a sense of unification in the blogging community and allows bloggers to have something specific to write about.

Since I (unfortunately) don't identify with most of these saccharine blogosphere niceties, it seems only reasonable that I should incorporate specific days into my blog which reflect my own circumstances and personality.
Such as 

Manic Depressive Monday
Unbearably Worrisome Wednesday
Frantic Anxiety-Ridden Friday
and 
Suicidal Sunday.

Since my current blog readership is waning drastically, I figured I'd begin by incorporating Psychotic Saturday - just to attract readers and enchant them with the possibility of positive vibes.

Jon, you're infinitely intriguing and intolerably talented. You're presently living in the alarmingly delightful beauty of the Tennessee wilderness. You have two cats who adore you......and probably three or four blog readers who tolerate you.

What more could you possibly ask for? 

You should celebrate your charmed existence by immersing your blog with all the marvelous blessings that are bestowed upon you. 
Open up your heart and tell us how you're feeling right now.

Well, I'm feeling slightly warmer now that my furnace is finally fixed. Even though the repair costs nearly depleted my meager savings. 
Which means I'll be eating less and worrying more.

Despite the fixed furnace - - the clothes dryer still doesn't work. The microwave is broken. I'm having plumbing problems. And about three dozen other problems that I won't bother to mention.

The squirrels and 'possums are still infiltrating the roof and crawlspace of the house - - ripping everything to shreds and greatly contributing to my
unrelenting insomnia.

My brand new cell phone is completely worthless. I can make calls - but can't text!
Every time I try to text I get a No Network Coverage message.
Go figure.

I've saved the best for last.
My car won't start.
I won't reveal the multitudinous details - it would be too long and painful. But the feeling of being isolated in the wilderness with no mode of transportation or escape is slightly unnerving.
Especially at 3:00 a.m. when the wolves howl.

More about this later.

On the bright side,
I had initially planned on doing a spontaneous, free-style interpretative Irish jig in honor of St. Patrick's Day.
But then I realized that I'm not Irish....

......and with my high blood pressure, bad back, tricky knee, sporadic vertigo, irregular heart palpitations, and monumental panic attacks .....doing spontaneous jigs of any nationality might not be a good idea.

But, just for the hell of it, I'll wear something green on St. Patrick's Day -  which ironically falls on Suicidal Sunday.
 

AN HOUR LOST IS NEVER REGAINED

 The recent damnable but inevitable clock change took me by surprise this time around. I had completely forgotten about it.

Fortunately, I was prepared. I refused to turn my clocks back an hour last fall - - so consequently I didn't have to turn them ahead this time.

Springing an hour ahead means that we lost an hour, doesn't it? Hell, if I subtracted all the precious hours I lost in my life (for one reason or another) I'd be timeless.
Ponder that for awhile. It might get profound.

I've been under such an enormous amount of stress lately (for endlessly complicated reasons that I won't go into) that I've been plagued with panic attacks and dizzy spells. Nothing new here. I've suffered from similar anxieties my entire life.

Last Friday morning, when I first got out of bed, I was seized by a combination dizzy spell and panic attack - which was compounded by the fact that I  didn't have my glasses or contact lenses, so I couldn't see a damn thing.

I unceremoniously crashed into a bookcase and everything came tumbling down: cheap Chinese vases, brass trinkets from India.....and, of course, books. A ton (or so it seemed) of dust-covered books that I hadn't read in years.

I was hit in the head with the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. 
Lying there dazed amongst the clutter, I decided that it could have been worse. I could have been clobbered by Ayn Rand or Dostoevsky.

Fortunately nothing was broken - - except my pride...and perhaps my will to live.
The three cats gathered 'round and looked surprised.

As if my poor excuse for a life wasn't tainted with enough problems, the almost-springlike weather has vanished and winter has returned with a vengeance. Howling winds, bitter cold, ice, and a semblance of snow.

I desperately needed to get to my mailbox this morning. The accumulating ice, frozen mud, impenetrable slush, and falling snow made it impossible to use the car.
So I walked. As usual. It was frigid and beyond miserable. By the time I crawled back up the mountain to my shack, I was nearly frozen and on the verge of passing out.

Safely (??) back inside, I suddenly realized that I couldn't feel my feet. I pried my muddy boots off carefully, hoping that a collection of frozen toes wouldn't tumble out.
They didn't.

In the muddled void of my shivering contemplation (whatever that means), I realized that losing an hour might not be a bad thing after all. It will bring me an hour closer to July, when hopefully the ice will thaw out.

A view this morning from my back porch.

P.S.

I'm way behind in reading blogs lately. But I'm thinking of you.