The memory of psychological pain lasts, for me, far longer than does the recollection of physical agony. Now, as I write this, I wonder “whether psychological” is the right word. Perhaps I should have used “mental,” instead? If the difference between psychological and mental mattered to me more than it does, I would have explored the meanings of both word; selecting one or the other based on the results of my research. But, obviously, the contextual importance of the words was—and remains—insufficient to warrant the time and effort involved in pursuit of certainty. But explaining why I did not bother to delve deeper into the matter DOES merit spending time to clarify why I did not dig deeper? Had I spent more time considering such trivia, I might be in a better position to understand and express my reasons for going seven days without writing anything to post on this blog, Maybe, because I did not dig deeper, I cannot remember my reason(s) for ignoring my morning habit for so long. It strikes me that I used “morning” correctly in the sentence I just wrote. I could have called my my habit of posting to this blog my “mourning” habit. My writing sometimes expresses, in one way or another, my sensation of mourning; whether profound sorrowful bereavement or mild regret. I wish I knew the underlying cause of this propensity of mine. There must be something, whether hidden just beneath the surface of my conscious thought or buried so deep I cannot unearth it, even after trying hard to understand the root cause(s). If I had enormous sums of money that I could use to fund unnecessary expenses, I might use part of the funds to pay for psychological analysis. But even if I had the luxury of obscene wealth, I would not know how to find and identify therapists who can help clients “connect the dots” in ways that enable them to understand themselves more thoroughly. And more reliably. And with a great degree of confidence. In other words, I seek the services of a magician who reads minds, can uncover unconscious or hidden motives, and who can help erase memories of the past that contribute in some way to anxiety or depression or mental (or psychological) pain. It is entirely possible that those memories are not responsible for whatever-it-is that creates discomfort. It’s possible that one of the umpteen prescriptions medications—either alone or in concert with other medications—are responsible. Whatever. I am just curious. And I have certain requirement of a therapist. I want the therapist to be female because I am far more likely to trust females than males; no reasons I know of to explain that predilection, but perhaps informative in and of itself. I want the therapist to be someone unknown to me and vice versa. I want the therapist to be someone whose compassion is obviously real, not someone who has been trained to “behave compassionately” for the purposes of engendering trust and respect. I probably have more criteria that I have not yet articulated. Enough about my neurosis or psychosis or other “osis” that might respond to therapy of one kind or another (or, an “itis” if that’s what is responsible for…whatever).
+++
Yesterday, while mi novia was otherwise occupied on an errand, my late wife’s sister and her friend brought me lunch, a Volcano Roll from West Village Hibachi. ‘Twas a delightful lunch and conversation. It’s nice to have company, especially an unhurried visit involving food and relaxed conversation. Before that, I chatted via Zoom with my three remaining siblings. As usual, Zoom was not entirely cooperative, but it worked well enough for a good conversation. Despite promises to revert back to the free version, I had not done that, which was good; we spent an hour and 45 minutes in total on the conversation, which would have given us only 40 minutes under the free plan. The capabilities exist for reliable tele-video services at reasonable rates, I am sure, but my expectations are greater than my experiences, I suppose. I need more espresso. And I need to drink my Ensure. And I need to return to bed for another hour our four of sleep.
+++
My radiation treatment for the brain lesions discovered as a result of my last brain MRI are behind me; finished Friday. Their impact, if any, should be known within a couple of months, plus or minus a few days. Chemotherapy probably will start again this week or next. Beyond that? Who knows? I would love to be rid of this crap, but the unlikelihood of that desire being met is rather high. I think I’ll just have to get used having ongoing treatments from now until then. Whenever “then” is. What is the timeline, I wonder? Where will it take me? And when?
