My friend, Bill Toone, is a wildlife biologist. I’m sure he won’t mind me saying that he boils the whole world down into the chemical reactions that make us who we are. We eat because of chemical reactions. We breed because of chemical reactions. And, thank goodness, our emotions are really nothing more than a chemical reaction. I’d be in trouble if I had to maintain this level of emotional response over an extended period of time. After a week, I’ve exhausted my own supply of emotive chemicals. I’m sorry, but I’ve had to turn to Xanax to help turn them off a little bit. We have cried with love, cried with fear, laughed with love and laughed for no particular reason at all.
I may not look like it on T.V., but I’m a rocker. I’m Tom Petty, Bob Dylan, Steven Tyler and Crazy Train still makes me pick up an air guitar. But for the past week I have not been able to get Mama Cass Elliot “Dream a Little Dream of Me” out of my freakin’ head. If this is part of the cure…then I have to reconsider the treatment.
Treatment is the phase we move to this week. What is the blob? What has its kind responded to in the past? What’s the point? If any. This is where the pros will help, but it’s also where you all seem to have so much experience and have provided me with questions to ask and options to consider. And, I thank you for that.
By the way, for the past 40 years I’ve worn a suit and tie and done nothing crazier than to have a “soul patch” for a while. But today, I had my finger nails painted cobalt blue. The barista (or whatever you call her) at the Pannikin said, with genuine sincerity, that she liked them and it made my day. It excites me about the possibilities of tomorrow.