Animals in the dark

(Aug 25 8:01 p.m.)

So, a few things.  And no photos (except the lead) because most of the subjects have been elusive, or… well, un-publishable.

Tuesday night, during my walk for the day, I spotted one of the neighborhood cats in the greens.  It looked back at me as I shined my flashlight on it— a flashlight with weak batteries, so a dim light on its face.  During one later pass, the cat was in the path; I couldn’t help but approach it, slowly, having to complete the path, whereupon it got scared and bolted off into the woods.

The next day was a bit strange, and I’m not sure if the cat was involved.  Remember the chipmunk I mentioned in a previous post?  Well, I may have found it— or had— in the backyard… on its side, moving only because of the insects beneath it; in other words, deceased.  Not a disturbing picture at that stage, but definitely not a picture that’s going up here.

It only got stranger that night.  Glenn Beck appeared on MSNBC… live.  I won’t go into that ball of stress… it was just unusual.

I contemplated making a long voice message in response to my far away friend, who as it turns out didn’t respond within the week because she was overwhelmed in work, among other things.  I made the decision to do the recording… and at the point it was past 11 p.m.

To fill you in, on past matters, briefly, making a phone call wasn’t possible because of the mobile network she had— not being able to call locals, so the next best thing was to make voice recordings.  When absolutely necessary, anyway.

Problem is… I am bad at speaking as myself.  I’m bad at speaking in general, sometimes losing train of thought mid-sentence, but into a mic, and outside, at night?  I could get paid as a voice actor the way I can bend my voice, but… as myself and quiet, it came out a mumble… as usual.  And not a “cool” mumble as with Elliot on Mr. Robot (even though that show has become rather dull).  The content of the message… it was awful, despite preparation— some preparation.  “Wing it,” I cannot.  So that message is not getting sent.  I would have to transcribe it for clarity, which defeats the point of a voice message.

It approached the definition of precarious being outside before the turn of midnight.  The stars were out, the crickets were at full volume, and I had used the screen of the smart phone as a light— no “torch,” as they call it in the U.K.  But it was not particularly safe toward the end.  And what ended the message: There was some kind of barking in the woods, only mere yards away, but not a dog.  Maybe a raccoon, and I think definitely, maybe rabid.  Okay, there have been no reports of rabid animals, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

I amplified that portion of the MP3 recording so you can hear it clearly:

Yeah, I returned to the house.

…A house that began to rot four years ago.

…And now, it appears as if aunt J. has given up on me, relinquishing everything onto my mother— someone who, after barely doing anything, doesn’t follow through on the ideas she sells… She doesn’t even remember a written deal she made and I accepted.

Okay, so I’m opening up my depressing circumstances again (and technically it’s more than a few things beyond this point).  Sue me.  I’m alone in all of this.

I know we all are sometimes undervalued and left to ask questions, not always knowing what to ask, but in my case… Am I not like an animal in the dark?

I know I’m not rabid, ha.  But there is definitely darkness, even during the day.  An alien in the neighborhood, where I might as well be some stray animal.  I’m subject to learn in a vacuum living here.  Aunt J. said in 2014, something along the lines of, you a champion, someone who will fight for you.  Of course, she made it a matter of disability… to have the public pay for my help.  No further help from family… whatever family that’s left.

I’m certainly not an animal if I can speak spoken languages and do square roots in my head.  Still, not much of what I say is going to get across anywhere— and doubly right now; the people behind the MERLIN Project say information does not pass well long-term around one’s birthday and six months away from that— biannually.  In my case, that’s early March and September.

(I was also going to link to the Wikipedia page for physicist George Hart for more on MERLIN, but the page had critical opinions stated as fact— and for a long time.  I did my best clearing up the page, but the vandals out there can be so pervasive that my changes may just get undone.  Also, my revisions or wording might not be clear enough or meet standards, so there’s only the win in trying and contributing.)

Right now, I should expect a lot of silence, and making big decisions will fail later on.  I should be taking care of things at home, and of myself, and frickin’ sleeping.  My teeth and gums are in a concerning state, my right ankle is warped, and my neck is messed up. …But those things cost money to deal with, and I should have a job.  It runs in circles.

In my willingness to fight the darkness… as absurd as that gets… I got cocky again.  Online, I recently gave advice to people left and right— the kind of advice that makes me— or anyone else— go oh, God… I wrote that.  And my far away friend, overwhelmed, certainly doesn’t need essays in the form of emails from me right now.

With my words, trying to make change right now is like barking in the woods.

Then again, ‘right now’… is so small in the grand picture of forever… this darkness that never ends.  I’m very much like an animal… on a leash, trapped in my head. …Then again, that could be considered insulting to animals.  Who am I to complain when the smallest of creatures must traverse long distances for food?  They run circles around me.  They reproduce, and I probably won’t… regardless of how much I want a family.

Animals aren’t bothered with human trappings and emotions and judgment… Even the animal people on Penny Dreadful embrace their instincts, and act, whereas I am… reserved in my dreadful absence of support.

—Okay, enough of that.  I should get some more air.