Monday, 13 March 2017

On Fighting Fatigue and Felines.

Now that Mistress Spring is taking her first teetering steps through the temporal imperative of the new season, I’m too busy outdoors to write blog posts during the day, and at night I’m too tired. It seems the old chronic fatigue thing is making a comeback because if I try to read I fall asleep in the armchair. And if I try to watch the TV I fall asleep. And if I try to do a crossword or Sudoku puzzle I fall asleep. And when I wake up after an hour or two (or three or even four) I’m immediately consumed with a desperate desire to fall asleep again. And if I try to fight it off and make a cup of tea it takes a very big effort just to get to the kitchen, and when I get back to the living room with the hard-earned hot beverage I fall asleep again. This is just one of the symptoms of chronic fatigue. There are more.

During one such journey down into the Dark Land of Nod last night I dreamt I was being attacked by a black leopard. I was a little frightened as you might expect, but not as much as you might also expect. I knew that if I concentrated hard to counter his moves, and if I believed sufficiently in my own strength to keep his claws and teeth at bay, I could defend myself adequately. And so I did. At one point I had him on his back with both his front legs pinned to the ground, and than I felt sorry for the poor lad and let him go. He walked quietly away none the worse for his experience, and I was very pleased for him and even more pleased with myself for getting it right. Sounds terribly shamanic, doesn’t it?

Well, while I attach much credence to shamanism, I don’t think there was anything other-worldly about my black leopard. I think he was just the black cat that’s taken to visiting my garden, no doubt attracted by the family of rats that are hanging around at the moment. As for the rest, I’ve no doubt it was merely the mind’s way of addressing the vicissitudes of life which have been a little troublesome for the past fifteen years.

And having ended on a prosaic note, it’s now time for a shower, a bottle of extra strong IPA, and a dip into the Dark Land of YouTube to see whether anybody has attacked me for making derogatory comments about their bloody awful taste in music. I promise I’ll try to fight back with equanimity and just the right amount of compassion as I consider due in the circumstances.

(And I might just add that several women of varying ages kept staring at me in Uttoxeter today. It happens sometimes. I wish I knew why.)

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