“Scissors mishap, air show disaster, chinese organ thieves; it’s a dangerous world.”

reset count

I’m recovering from a meltdown.  An airshow (and the practice leading up to it) shut me down like an off switch.  Bose QC35 noise-canceling headphones, worn from sunup to sundown, couldn’t shield me from the ridiculous pilot shenanigans; she said, acidly.  I was in air defense units for several years of my military career.  I’ve been vigilant of the sky ever since as if programmed to assume watch whenever outdoors.  It wasn’t part of my specialty, but I had the opportunity to witness, and a few times, (range) fire all of the Army’s air defense weaponry.  Cherished experiences.

I don’t worry about war, as many do.  America has been at war my entire life, and likely yours.  I have a tremendous amount of faith in our military from experiencing it firsthand.  I paid for this comfort with sweat, tears, and anxiety that too often manifested as inopportune hurling for distance.  (Raising fist in solidarity with anyone who has ever been beaten up for accidentally barfing on someone.)  It was worth it.  Plus, I had access to a lot of cool shit a decade before civilians; (like email.)  I just deleted a whole paragraph about the old days.  You’re welcome. 🙃

I’m hoping to regain my ability to speak aloud today.  I’m confident Solange’s A Seat at the Table on repeat will draw out my voice.  Music’s power over my neurology and mood astonishes and delights me.  It’s my favorite survival tool.  When I can’t talk, I tend to stop communicating altogether.  People are especially dangerous at these times, so it’s isolation without my consent.  When I recover basic functionality, I may enjoy solitude a little too much.  The rock I used to dwell beneath sends such warm invitations.  (In my head, Stevie Nicks clears her throat, then burns them while making eye contact.)  No worries on that front.  Heh.

I’m off to start wrapping my head around a mini-vacation this weekend.  Good thing I like obsessively planning for shit.  😂✌🏾💜

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