So I woke up early this morning when it still felt like a blistering -20 and took the pup out for a quick jaunt. Down jacket, mitts, ugly emu boots, the whole shebang on April 20th, bizarre....
Inside my head I was bitching and swinging left hooks at the thought of another day at a desk with a million pieces of paper scattered before me....
Another couple years of this brought on a lack of motivation to get back to it and found me nearly knocking over the sweetest little woman (or from behind she appeared this way).
She made a slow turn to face me, vacant stare, wig placed crooked atop her crown and 4 dashes of red lipstick placed high on her cheeks for unknown reasons....
Pure and complete isolation, painted in and on her face....
She looked at me as if she may know me, or perhaps had never seen me before, she did not quite know......
She looked at the pole as if it might be a bus stop, or perhaps was just a pole, and what was she waiting for and what IS a bus?
And she made me wonder.
Is her mind controlled by sedating medications, or is she in need of meds that will somehow modify her dopamine, or other neurotransmitters in MOA unknown ways that may or may not improve her quality of life. Why do we have to manipulate what other cultures view as a natural progression. Or have we been manipulated, aka intoxicated, so much that there is no natural progression hence more.
Her lipstick adorned cheeks just made me frustrated and added more thoughts to my swirling anxiety, but she did awaken me to see that right now, I don't have it that bad and should get back to studying so I can understand her, and her mind and the meds that are being pushed through her sweet pursed lips where that lipstick should be.
