Bewitched, bothered and dissociated

Sometimes I don't want to write because it takes me out of the comfortable mental envelope protecting me from the shock of reality: dissociation.  My mind unhinges, and drifts away on a cloud of minutae and the perfect activity to reinforce this warm stew of mental passivity: web surfing.  So sometimes I just have to force my fingers to the keyboard and begin typing, no matter what comes out.

Things I've seen today surfing?  Christopher Bowman (who I'd never heard of) former champion figure skater and child tv actor, died of a suspected overdose in a motel room somewhere off the beaten track.  I'd wonder if he were playing checkers with John Belushi in the afterlife, if I believed in an afterlife, which I don't.  Ashes to ashes/dust to dust.  We go into the ground or our ashes get scattered and that's the end of it.

Until the Day of Resurrection and the Final Judgment.  Not only is that the scenario I believe in, it's the scenario I prefer to believe in.  The thought of consciousness surviving bodily death is too terrifying, and fantastic--like a grim fairy tale. 

Once we were having a conversation about this during a trip to Ashland.  When I laid out these views and defended them, saying that was what I was taught in Sunday School and by my mother--Cyndee, one of our group, snidely said, "well that's fine for a child, but what do you believe as an adult?"

So, I was the one who didn't believe that consciousness survived death--and I was being called childish...

I've decided to write about these moments that return to my consciousness, seemingly at random, but really not randomly at all.  There's a purpose for why I remember these events which I might, except for some mysterious component, have long since completely forgotten.

Other surfing news:  Mike Huckabee lost 110 pounds and wrote a book about it.  That's the Republican healthcare platform--lose weight.  I look forward to losing weight when I move to Iowa.  It's already begun.  My pants are very loose.  Although I was up to 315 at my sleep medicine appointment on Wednesday, I suspect that I was actually heftier than that--probably 325 or 330--a few months ago.  Stress has a way of creeping up on you.

So here's my thought on that:  I could stay in my current job and make enough money to eventually be able to afford a heart bypass--or I could move to Iowa, reduce stress and my waistline, and avoid the operation, and come out none the worse financially.

And in the meantime, do more enjoyable, satisfying, authentic work.