My own blog... dangerous... possibly read by upwards of 7 people! Must... post... responsibly. Try... not... use... dots... as... punctuation... This blog (she announced melodramatically) will be about nothing-- and everything. I was once told by a therapist I was forced to see, long story, tell it sometime, that if she didn't have test results showing her my I.Q., she would probably think I was psychotic. She said that for the average person, daily reality is fairly simple to navigate because they only see one layer, maybe catching blurred glimpses of another at times. She said I seemed immobilized because I was seeing many layers of reality with equal clarity at any given time, which caused great confusion in finding a direction. I asked her if she considered herself one of those average people. She said life was fairly easy for her, reality simple. She was pregnant at the time. I asked her if, being pregnant, she didn't feel compelled to understand the fabric of the Universe from which this child inside her had come. She said no. I swear it. She dressed really well, in maternity clothing that obviously cost more than the pull fee, vetting and a week's board for a death row dog waiting for transport to a no-kill shelter. Her hair was cut and styled in a way that had to have a maintenance trim every six weeks-- good business. I studied it and gave my daughter the same haircut on a metal workshop chair in the backyard. I sent a comparable amount of money to the people who were trying to reintroduce wolves into Yellowstone. I am mentioning these things because they are the best way of explaining that trying to communicate with this woman, at least at this time in either of our lives, was comparable to those transmitters they have constantly putting out signals for beings from other planets. They do it, but they don't really expect to come in the next morning finding a "Hi, got your message, will be at your dinner party. Can I bring anything?" In her simple, clear layer of reality, she was the one in the position to make diagnoses, write recommendations for treatments, send people places to be fed psychotropic drugs so they could see things as clearly as she did. And she was right about me... it just doesn't seem that simple. Glad she had those test results, though, or who knows where I might have ended up! I tell this story in an attempt to explain that, like Mary Poppins, I never explain anything! And there the resemblance ends.