FOLDING

Folding?

Lately I feel like I'm folding up for good:

Chronic health issues that are slowly sapping my energy, humor, and charm. You never realized I had charm, did you?

Annoyingly endless rain and storms that rumble and rage day and night. Last Friday there were three power outages. This afternoon there was a brief respite - during which timid sunlight taunted and teased behind obstinate clouds and eventually gave up trying to emerge.

More storms predicted for tomorrow.

The concept of folding piqued my interest when I recently read Myra's
blog, where the subject of folding fitted sheets and parachutes briefly came up.

The first thought that came into my mind was the fact that I've been unsuccessfully trying to fold fitted sheets for as long as I can remember.
I've finally concluded that they were designed by the same evil mindset that gave us plastic wrap and zip-lock resealable bags.

Okay, it wasn't funny - but keep in mind that I'm not in a funny mood.

The second thought that came to my mind (regarding the subject of folding) happened long, long ago - when I was a nineteen-year-old novice security officer in California.
Yes - I had a security license and a loaded gun.

At that time I was working the night shift for a large corporation in Costa Mesa.

My security shift began at 6:00 p.m. - when most of the workers were gone and the building was empty.

My first duty of every evening was to go outside by the main entrance and take down the huge American flag that was proudly hanging on an incredibly tall pole.

An elderly security guard (and ex-military man) gave me scrupulous instructions on how to take down the flag and fold it.

His warning was sober and stern:

"Our flag is SACRED", he told me. "While you are folding it - NEVER let it touch the ground. And always fold it indoors, away from dirt and debris."

I caught on to the folding aspect quickly, but never quite mastered the "don't let it touch the ground" part.

On my first evening alone with the massive flag, I desperately tried every ploy possible to fold it properly while keeping it off the floor.

None of my efforts worked.
I folded and re-folded and the thing kept dragging on the floor and raveling into an unpatriotic mess.
The little office that I was in afforded no room whatsoever to do folding maneuvers.

Finally - in complete exasperation, bordering on fury - I checked to make sure no one was around......

.....then I dragged the flag outside, spread it out on the ground, and managed to fold it perfectly.
Tradition and dignity be damned!

That became my nightly procedure for folding the flag and I decided that  ignorance of my ploy could only result in bliss.

"You've done a perfect job of folding our flag," the old officer told me.

Somehow his praise left a very guilty hollow in my heart, but I learned to live with it.

DEPRESSION CONFESSION

I was never an optimist. Even during the very best times of my life I always had the dire expectation that something would eventually go wrong.
Low self esteem cursed me with a persistent doom and gloom attitude.  I never felt that I deserved success. 

As a hardcore realist, I never viewed the world as a place filled with rainbows, unicorns, and androgynous comrades holding hands and singing kumbaya. The globalist concept of Utopia is bullshit.

In a verbose and roundabout way, this brings me to the subject of depression. My (many) bouts of depression have never been debilitating and have never seriously affected my daily life. They come and go - but come more frequently now that I'm getting older (not that I'm exactly old, mind you).

Contrary to popular belief, my depression has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I'm now a semi-hermit living in the wilderness.
I lived my entire life with other people and finally decided to exist in blessed solitude. 

As much as we need contact with humanity in order to maintain a healthy mental existence - - I have always believed that 90 per cent of our problems come from other people.
Don't be too quick to discount my theory.

I'm one of those rare individuals who never needed another person to make me feel whole. I'm my own best friend (and, of course, worst enemy). I am never, ever bored.

My depression comes from two main sources:
1. My physical ailments - which seem to be increasing rapidly, and 
2. my present substandard rural living conditions - which are in direct contrast to what I've always been used to. 

Several spinal injuries have rendered my back nearly useless - causing me constant pain, discomfort, and great difficulty walking. Instead of being the extremely physically active person that I always was, I'm now (I am embarrassed and reluctant to admit) a pathetic shadow of Quasimodo.

As much as I love my rural life amidst the beauty and solitude of nature, the complications and inconveniences are enormous.......and I mean ENORMOUS.
If I ever revealed all of the problems I have, you'd marvel at the fact that I've lasted here for four years (so far...). 

Life in the wilderness ain't for sissies.
Or aging aesthetes.

But I've said enough for now.
Useless midnight confessions on a cold winter night.

I went outside and saw the pale moon rising in a mist beyond the naked forest trees. Coyotes were yelping in the distance and the sudden loud hoot of a nearby owl nearly scared the jeeters out of me.

Next week is predicted to be extremely cold - - near zero on several nights.
I am dreading it.

I have to drive into town on Monday.
I am really dreading it.

Trapped. In the midst of winter.