Sunday, January 31, 2016

The Price of This Particular Form of Refuge

Einstein, a man much smarter than Yours truly, once remarked that insanity is defined as performing the same act over and over and anticipating a different result.  From Professor Einstein's perspective perhaps, therefore, I am indeed insane.  I know not.  Again, I readily acknowledge that his noggin was significantly bigger than mine - at least in terms of its contents.  I win hands-down in a contest of diameter and/or circumference.  Apparently, we would end up in a flat-footed tie in terms of cleanliness of work area - based upon information of which I have only recently become aware

"If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind,
of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?" 
- Albert Einstein 

Ah, the joy and torture of a cluttered mind! 

But I digress.

I did not know how much time I would take from this space when I stepped away from it for an indeterminate period of time.  Through no fault of its own it had become a distraction.  However, I underestimated the amount of stability it provides to my day-to-day.  

And I think that I acted a bit in haste - although I had contemplated doing what I did here for some time prior to doing it.  Truth be told, over the years I have developed the habit of writing a day or two ahead.  Sometimes more depending upon the subject matter.  This piece was originally written to be - as its name suggested - the second-to-last piece that appeared here.   But for a bout of insomnia on Saturday night, this dreck never would have been spawned.  I, for one, cannot fake giving a rat's ass about the Patriots or their quarterback.  

The great American philosopher Hillary Norman Peterson once observed that, "You can never be unfaithful to your one true love.  You'll always come back to her."  While I have little doubt that Margaret is my one true love, to whom I would never be unfaithful, I suspect that the cheeky nymph that is sanity likely has scored a spot on the "Adam Kenny True Love" medal platform.  I am a fairly fucked up cat.  But for all my whistles and tics, I manage to keep my shit together and I do so, on a day in/day out basis, far better than most of the supposedly sane persons with whom I interact.  

It turns out, upon further reflection that I needed to remind myself of the purpose that this ritual performs for me.  It is one of exercise and of exorcism.  I need both.  

Every form of refuge does indeed have its price.  That is beyond question.  

The only question is one's willingness to meet it.  I consider it answered.

For today, at least.

Even in a perfect world, 
Where everyone is equal
I'd still own the film rights and
- Elvis Costello


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