Maybe pigs will fly.
It is type day. It is 1:00 PM and I have the intention of typing for the rest of today. I have plenty of posts, stuff to write to Mom & Dad, Bobbielou, Calulu, and you.
I have begun to dig myself out of a month-long depression that I have been struggling through. There was certainly not any one event that sent me sliding down and climbing out is also taking a combination of things to continue the upward motion.
There has been a major gap in my responding to specifics in your many letters over the last six weeks or so and I am going to work on that issue. I had an organized approach that had me placing all new letters in one place. I would then answer them and file a copy of my answer along with the letter in my accordion file. Over the last six weeks or so I seem to have accumulated multiple to do piles and each pile has at least one of your letters in it.
I have not forgotten two serious issues you raised. They were the reference to what happens if one of my parents gets sick or dies and the questions raised by the New York Times article you came across. The problem I have is that with no sort of on-site emotional support it is difficult to discuss those weighty issues.
As far as anything happening to my parents, at this point I am powerless to do much. Without even phone contact with my siblings, my only contact is with my parents and it is certainly difficult to get much honest information from Dad about current medical conditions, and Mom's hearing being what it is (or isn't) makes talking to her on phone almost impossible.
While New York State does take you to immediate family member's funerals, I have already decided not to go. You are taken by two armed correction officers and are kept in handcuffs which are fastened around your waist with chains, and leg cuffs that are like large handcuffs with an eighteen inch chain connecting your ankles together.
As far as the story in the paper goes, at some point I will gladly spell out the entire sorry tale, but I am not able to fully deal with all the emotions that would come up at this point. I am amazed at how far I have some in terms of recognizing my 'thinking' errors, and the harm I have caused by my actions. I am dealing with the difference between retribution and remorse, and the fact that I have no contact with my siblings, is part of the dichotomy I deal with each and every day.
I have been able to lift my spirits by relying on my own personal resources. I spent most of Monday reading five New York Times and then yesterday finished up the Sunday paper. I have been walking one hour every other day (or so) for at least the last week and yesterday did two hours, one of which was at the four mile an hour pace. [Went back out today 1/12 and did another speed hour.]
I want to put this into a post. I think my endorphin pump is activated by the scissors type action that only comes from standing upright and waking at faster than normal pace for extended periods of time. Something that laying on my bunk and reading a good novel does not seem to engage.
After reading so many papers, I know one reason for feeling so comfortable while my mind is tucked inside a good novel, reality sucks. The world seems to be going to hell in a hand basket. What ever that means.
One of the things I want to do is go through the articles I have collected and pass on my wit and wisdom and move on. Let me get started on that now, and see how long I can keep at it. Then I will add some more to this letter to cover things that do not get answered in posts.
I did type the drafts of all the enclosed yesterday and did the print and proof stuff Thursday. Maybe I will actually so some real work this weekend. Maybe pigs will fly.
