Staggering Out From The Black Hole...

So I was going to post a lot earlier, about how I procrastinate about posting, but then I put it off for another day.

The universe, faced with such a closed loop of irony, swallowed me into a black hole, which is where I have been residing for the last few months.

And so that's why I haven't written in a while.

... as excuses go it probably needs some work, but at least it's original.

Anyhoo - when I started this blog, I sort-of promised to myself that I would never use it as a diary, so much as a respository for the slightly/moderately/oh-very-much-so insane musings cluttering up my mind. But unfortunately, I think I'm going to have to break this sort-of rule today.

----------------

I got some bad news earlier this week. It wasn't terrible news. It wasn't tragic.

There's something I've observed about tragedy - with what luckily little contact I've had with it - and that is that sometimes things are SO tragic, so horrific, so awful that your brain can't react. Instead some sort of safety fuse blows, and instead of your brain exploding, as it so logically should, it gets distant, protected by this strange, invisible, yet protective bubble.

Is it a protective mechanism? Or is it what occurs when we reach the boundaries of our brain, where it does not even know how to react?

Does the calculator of our mind - which adds and divides the hand dealt to us - refuse now to answer when '=' is pressed because it does not know the answer, or to stop itself exploding on realising the true nature of everything that is happening to us?

Ugh, my stomach is objecting to so many metaphors attempts.
I agree, Stomach - I will never use the phrase 'the calculator of our mind' again, unless I'm planning to make someone else a bit sick too.

Anyway, I ponder on this because the bad news I had was only that: bad news. Not tragic. Not horrific.
And it has made me so unhappy, and frustrated, and angry...
I wonder if it's because it's not that terrible. - it's simply disappointing.
And my brain - instead of finding the safety fuse - is simply too tired, and yells WHY ME???!!!!??

I am angry. I am really angry.
I think, in many respects, I have had all the trouble and pain I can take, and I think this news is really, really unfair.
I am angry, but not adult, flustery, pretending-to-be-reasonable anger.
I am toddler angry - the kind of anger not tempered by rhyme and reason.
I want to throw a tantrum. I want to throw all my toys out of the pram, and hit God in the eye.
I want someone else to hurt, but since no one else is there to blame, it looks like it's you, God.
Sorry.
Omniscence can't be all fun.

So... what does this all mean, this rambling nonsense?

I don't know.

I just know that something has happened in my life. Not tragic. Not terrible. But for the life of me I can't reason or analyse my way out of it. I don't know how to make it better. I don't know who to talk to, or what to buy myself, or what to tell myself. I suppose time will have to do, which is pretty deflating.

And I suppose, after all of that... that's life.
That's the most profound thing I can come up with.
It's pretty rubbish, so Descartes's in no immediate trouble.

I've got bad news. I'm upset.
It's bad now. But it will get better.
Be thankful it's not worse and be patient for the day when you not only think it, but believe it too.

And I suppose, most importantly, there's no such thing as a 'normal life'. They're all slightly extraordinary.

I don't know if it's true, but it sounds good, which, when you get to it, is a pretty good substitute for the truth.