Pain Room

Preachers' Kids

What Men Do

You want it darker?

Saturday, October 27, 2018

I was wound up Friday, happy to share soup with my friends, my cousin Anneli and her husband Addy. It was a pleasant visit though stories of preachers’ kids and missionary kids were exchanged. The harshness of parents choosing the work of the Lord and neglecting their own children.

Of the three Boundary Creek stories,  Preachers’ Kids is still waiting for its first post. The only thing I know for certain is the protagonist has a bum ticker, a vernacular phrase I’ve always loved.  Gets bandied about Waterfront Centre, usually by men 10 to 20 years my senior.

My character with the bum ticker, his heart, is enlarged. He is waiting for a transplant. He is still able to live on his own.  Realizing he may not be long for this world he begins writing his story, and the other preachers’ kids he clicked with at a Mennonite residential boarding school. I think he starts the story by writing his own obituary, and then those of his friends, making it up as he goes along.

I ended  the day anxiously sending email and Facebook posts I should have waited to post, and revised more carefully. “Pre-medicated,”  sharply opposite “premeditated,” communications of mine, usually followed by explanations and apologies.   The thing is, when I get really agitated I can’t stop myself. The best I can hope for is that I don’t make enough sense to offed anyone. My psychiatrist says, “well if you know it was wrong so soon afterward, can’t you just hold back long enough, breathe, and NOT write what you are thinking? …You have a penchant for poking people in the eyes with pointy sticks, and standing back waiting for them to admire you.”  I up one of my meds by 25mgs and slept well, though pain still strong enough to wake me soon after six. I took my meds, and waited for the pain to lift, heavier today likely brought on by darker weather.

 Soon after I regained consciousness with my beloved coffee and some toast, and was “back in service,” I learned of the anti-Semitic shooting in Pittsburg. Eleven dead, some others wounded. President Trump denies any responsibility, suggesting the Synagogue, for “better results,”  should have armed guards. I message my Jewish psychiatrist to offer condolences, and he is actually at services, there are enough phones in the congregation (?) that are checked appropriately, as they learn of this atrocity.

This is plenty dark.

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