NARRATION, DISAPPEARANCES AND APPEARANCES

I have the distinct impression of an invisible narrator to my recent experiences.  I sensed it just now as I was driving home from the Tulalip Casino where I met up with my friend for our regular tour of the penny slots.  Just as I was nearing my house, a large, long, flat bed trailer was in front of me.  On its side was a web address:  centralgassed.com.  It was carrying a full-length white cylinder that was labeled GAS in big, red letters.  Below a covered silver valve on the back of the gas cylinder were the words, also in caps:  VENTING IS NORMAL. 

Other random playbacks:

I felt deeply insulted recently when I thought someone had me summed up.  Had me in his or her life as an object whose purpose was defined.  Was placing me in his or her life accordingly.  I was insulted by the feeling that I was not in a mutual relationship as I had deluded myself, but in a box or a shipping crate.  It's probably my imagination, I finally decided.  The whole thing stayed heavy in my pocket for a week.  I don't know where it is now. 

I went to the casino on another occasion with someone, but peeled away to be alone for a spell.  I bet a large (for me) sum of money, and accidentally won.  This happened playing a game called Triple Dragon, with a bonus round that can be significantly transporting.  This secret betting, followed by secret winning, followed by throwing half the money away on additional and secret reckless bets and pocketing the other half did something important for me.  It gave me privacy, solitude, independence, and the cherry on top -- actual endorphin release.  Narrator says it was completely about being invisible in a way that I control, not others.

I started a house painting project.  My painter came and power washed.  Another day, he did some finishing work on trim.  He didn't come today due to rain forecast.  He will come tomorrow to spackle.  Will painting ever begin?  I feel nothing -- anxiety shows up and I push it away.  "You are in a process," says my head.  I started something and then instantly became an observer.  I guess I could be on my painter's back about why painting has to be prepped in so many stages.  But, then I would feel like an unenlightened diner in a very fine restaurant who is complaining about tediousness of all the courses.  I am on a ride.  I'm strapped in. 

All week long, as I await Wednesday July 6 -- tomorrow -- when I will, at long last, hitch up my teardrop camper and haul it to my house, the background music of "why did I buy that?"  and "what was I thinking?" and "it's just a catalyst.  relax." plays and plays.  Sometimes you do things to spark other things and go somewhere new, Bridget.  So says the narrator.  I have a thousand thought-out rationalizations for buying a teardrop camper and taking it to parks and setting it up so that my dogs and I can .... can .... WHAT!??  You don't know what.  That's why you did it.  Says narrator.

These recent days of taking chances, being secretive, seeking diversion, deciding to not fret over something outside my control, all happened during the days that an idol of mine, Elie Wiesel, was dying and then died.  There aren't that many people left who can say what he said about standing up to evil, torment, oppression every every every time you see it.  

When I think about Elie Wiesel dying, I think about my own death, the cremation of my body, the joining of my ashes with Ted's.  The kids have promised to take us both to a huge rock formation at the end of Road's End in Lincoln City, Oregon where we five had barrels of fun that went on almost forever.  What if the rock is destroyed somehow?  What if that part of the Pacific Coast is sunk by an earthquake, as the experts predict?  Thank god you are waiting for you to die before the kids distribute both your ashes....I mean it could be worse.  What if Ted's ashes were distributed, THEN the rock crumbles or the coastline, and you have to go somewhere else?   Thank you narrator, for pointing that out.

I see that I have been preoccupying myself with actions and thoughts about trivial nothings because I am tired and don't want to face anything heavy at the moment.  It is intermittently tiring upon tiring to trudge on without Ted.  It's an exhausting life at times, widowhood.  I think Elie Wiesel probably felt that way privately.  He had his casino, probably.  His moments of disillusionment, no doubt.  Still, he felt that his surviving came at a cost of someone else not surviving, and he had to speak out.  That's heavy.  I hope he allowed himself a few side excursions.  I hope so for all who carry on. 

VENTING IS NORMAL.


Tulalip Casino, although any casino will do

The Elie Wiesel Foundation For Humanity