…loopy

To me,

Life’s problems are like a Moebius loop—spiraling around and around, unending. Whee, T.

I adapt to all the little twists and curves of kismet, fate, luck, doom, karma, (whatever it is that each of us tend to title life’s little ups and downs) by talking and writing about these calamities. Therapists call it active participatory therapy, I call it venting.

I use this therapy to identify problems and then I write to defuse these stressors. It’s about then that I realize that writing is the stressor.

Writing should help me loop through the conundrums of life and garner solutions, but it’s become an endless cycle. I sort through past years of garbled vicissitudes[1] and discover that my life requires constant clarification and urgent revision!

So I write more! It is then that I realize that this idea of writing therapy is not new; it’s been around for centuries. I expect it to work about as well for me as it worked for Poe.[2]

Reality Bite: “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”[3]

I plan to continue to twist and record my adventures until I either confuse or convince myself to do otherwise. I’ll shoot along this track pell-mell, encouraged by the idea that I’m making some therapeutic headway.

In lieu of that, I fully expect that my writing will explain my eccentricities to my progeny. I can picture them now. “Remember how Grandma got lost every time she ventured beyond her back yard?” Well, now they will have my response in perpetuity.

Reality Bite: Don’t explore anything too deeply, it’s not safe.

[1] Abrupt or unexpected changes or shifts often met with in one’s life, activities or surroundings. (Webster) Isn’t that word great here?

[2] Edgar Allan, if you’re still too young to have revisited 8th grade lit. homework.

[3] Yup, I have an 8th grader, obviously.