At a midtown Panera, after a therapy session that went smoothly enough, temperament wise. I feel like a zombie. I recognize that I am wallowing in this matter to excess, but feeling like I barely deserve to exist is weighing on me. It is not that I was an accident. I don’t think I was, even though I was born when mother was considered too old for childbirth. I just think that being born to two people who, in another generation, would not have willingly procreated, is a sadness-inducing conclusion.I talked some about my friend Dave, who grew up in NYC foster care programs, a true and complete orphan with no desire to know who his paretns are or were. I am not an orphan but I identify with Dave, and found that he made perfect sene to me when I learned he had grown up as an orphan. Everything about his having no safety net or fallback in life made sense when I knew he had no family.
She looked at me calmly as I explained that I do not feel like I exist, and that consciousness is an illusion, an unprovable concept, something that at best materializes as a group force. She asked if I am one of those super smart people. I said I don’t know but that my mother was off the charts smart.
I feel tired and dreary, but peaceful. I was up before 9 today, which is a new thing for me. The days are longer but they seem to fly by just as fast as when I wake at 2pm.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
