Rage, hermits, Chicago, and crabs in winter


Wow! It seems like the time of my life is simply dragging by with its empty days. I look at the number of blogs I have written in the past several months and to describe them as a “handful” would be generous. The days seem to be disappearing so fast when I look at the calendar but they are endless when I look at the clock.

I have become almost a hermit. I find that during these cold days, my flannel pajamas and thick robe are warmer in the house than jeans and a sweatshirt. Thankfully very few people a year come to my door unexpectedly. I blame my hermit status on the fact that I abhor the cold as much as I abhor the heat, but I feel there is more to it than that. Exactly what it is I can’t really analyze.

I have been on thyroid medication since high school. A few weeks ago a test revealed that the medication level I was on was no longer sufficient. It hadn’t been for quite some time.  Being hypothyroid is not an easy way to go through life, but somehow I feel I should rise above it. I rev my motor, but I still manage to go nowhere. Add that to the anemia and you have a good picture of where I am at this point in my life in the dead of winter.  Many days I just sigh and accept. Then there are days when I say “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”  Dylan Thomas said it better than I:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and  rage at close of day:

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Having been reared by a distant father who believed in children being seen and not heard, I stored a life time of things I wanted to say . There were many rages piling up in my thoughts. There were a myriad of events I felt were not justified but instead of showing anger, I simply swallowed and remained silent.

When I started this blog, I found it very rewarding to be able to communicate. Some readers were actually listening to me. Then things began to happen and I let the world get the better of me. 2010 was a banner year for blows. I stopped trying to say anything and let myself once more be swallowed by the silent wrappings of my childhood when it was appreciated if  I would just stay out of the way.

Perhaps I could best be described as a crab or a turtle. The elements of my life have allowed me to build a tough shell about my body. It is my protection. I said crab because I believe I’m the cover girl for Cancer magazine…not the disease…the astrological sign. In this link I found I would say that I fit almost 90% of the description. One has to work extra hard to connect with the world when one is a turtle or a crab. It takes effort to stick one’s head out of the shell.

There are days when I want to rage. I’m not talking about going ballistic about events happening personally to me. Not any more. I’ve been too influenced by “Let go and let God,” . I’m not about to let road rage get the better of me. I’m much more of a “if you need to get there before me, please allow me to get out of your way” kind of driver. I gave up raging about personal affronts decades ago.

I’m talking about the way I see our society heading. I believe so much that is happening in the United States is simply wrong. I see the story of two sisters who get a life sentence for an armed robbery which  netted between $11 and $200 and then I think of the Bank of America who, instead of a gun, used every dirty trick in the book to expel people from their homes to the tune of billions of dollars. Their “punishment”? A temporary ban on their foreclosure activities. They’ve been back at it since October.

Or  someone like the televangelist Jim Bakker who eventually got his forty-five year sentence reduced to five. He didn’t use a gun either. He used  the cross. If Jesus had stayed in the grave, I’m sure he really did a spin in his grave over that one. Bakker gained millions of dollars from his followers. The sisters gained less than $200.  The amount B of A accumulated is still being amassed.

My list of things I wish to rant about is far too long to include in one blog. There are hundreds of injustices I see and hear around me.  Perhaps it is time once again for me to start raging at the dying of the light. When my father died at the age of sixty-three, people said that was a ripe old age back in the ’60s. Now that I have passed that age, I feel there is too much for me to say to even think of cashing in my chips for at least another couple of decades or more.

“A man playing guitar singing for us all.

Will you help him change the world? Can you dig it? Yes I can”

“A bronze man still can yell stories his own way. Listen children all is not lost. All is not lost. Oh no.”

Chicago in the early 70s forty years ago suggested we sing our own songs to help change the world. Tell the stories our own way. All is not lost.

On that note of positive thought I’ll make an attempt to blog more often. Perhaps there is a chance America can still avoid going the way of the Roman Empire. But then again, that empire lasted almost 1500 years and we’re not even half way through the third century. Perhaps there still is hope for the United States if enough of  its citizens continue to rage. Perhaps I can rev my motor long enough to be one of them. Namaste. Attic Annie



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