Spooky Action, not much of a distance

I am fastidious about my pre-bedtime routine. This is dictated by my (bipolar) anxiety and OCD. In the living room, I make sure the TV is off, the lights are off and the door is shut. This is how it always is, how it always has been.

This morning I came downstairs and stopped when I saw the door open and lights on. My first thought was that I’d  been burgled (unlikely as the house is as tight as a drum). But no, the lamp I always use was on and another lamp I seldom use was also on. The TV had switched itself off on the power-saving mode.

There was no sign of a break-in; windows were intact as were front and back doors.

This hasleft me feeling ill and uneasy all day. Thinking about it, I can guess only at two posible explanations:

Memory lapse (wouldn’t be the first) probably linked to the dissociation I have with my bipolar. Brief psychotic episode (again, wouldn’t be the first). Had I come downstairs in the night and watched TV or done something else? I have no history of sleep-walking.

It’s all very strange. Spooky action indeed.



That thing.

I’ve thought of that thing so very many times in my life it no longer has any meaning. It’s become the norm.

I’ve said the word a thousand times. A thousand thousand times, and it’s nothing more now than any other word.

I was a teenager when I bought not one but two copies of Erwin Stengel’s book, read it cover to cover as if it was a talisman; informing and protecting me from its subject.

It means so little to me now it blurs with breathing, thinking, seeing. Believing. But most of all, knowing. A thousand thousand times.

I still don’t feel protected, however much I feel informed.