Monday, December 01, 2014

The Pet

            So … I’m not writing much today. Well, not anything historical. I have pages of things to write for next semester’s classes. I started early this morning, and, unless I’ve forgotten something, I am done.

            My desk is now unusable, and I’ll spend the rest of the day putting my work room back into some sort of order. I want new curtains for my work room. It has two small and one large window. My desk sits in front of the large window. The smaller windows are over bookshelves.

            The curtains are striped, shades of green. Though they match the house’s historical period, they are ugly. I’m tired of looking at them. I may replace them with white blinds and lace sheers. I haven’t made up my mind yet. Window blinds of the style found in 1940 are very expensive. I may compromise and buy modern, narrower blinds.

            I asked for volunteers to run down some divorce papers from 1903, but no one came forward. I’ll start on that next week. So many essential things seem to be lost. I can’t find any issue of a paper called The Last Trump and all the key issues of Zion’s Day Star seem not to exist. There must be one copy out there somewhere. One of our history blog readers asked about them on a controversialist’s website but without result.

            Other than a brief biography in volume 1, we haven’t written much about an Arthur Adams. A. D. Jones was a thief and a pervert. But he is interesting. Adams makes my skin crawl. I read his 1882 book. We will quote from it, I think. But … well … ever pick up a book and feel as if you want to wipe your hands clean after? That’s how I feel toward his 1882 book. Jones, for all his colorful behavior, represents a very ordinary wickedness. Adams touched Satan’s face. But, despite my personal feelings, we’ll just tell the story as it happened. I don’t have to like the people we write about, just tell the documented truth about them.

            I wrote a short story called Too Soon Goodb’ye once upon a time. It was published in Mebra Disjecta, a now defunct web magazine and republished on this blog. There is more reality in it than fiction.

            I’m experiencing the same stressed and melancholy mood that I portray in the story. My complex of seizures produces odd effects. I sometimes ‘hear’ my own name. That’s characteristic of one type of seizure. When I was a child and going to religious meetings with my mother, one of the Elders suggested I was demonized. That upset my mother who though a Bible believer was very practical. It offended me. It made me cry.

           I see things. I know they’re not real, and this too is common symptom of this complex of seizures. I’m not going mad, my brain is misfiring.

            There are issues that my doctors explain with guesses. I’m not going to describe them; I can’t do them justice with words. But they are frightening. I don’t like the experience.

            Life is grim sometimes. I can see that I’m on my way back to doctors. (Did I mention that I don’t LIKE doctors.) I can feel myself shutting down.


  1. Dear Rachael:
    you are one of the most marvellous women I've ever known. I feel myself lucky in that.
    I don't lecture you, no, my History Teacher and Princess. It is not my purpose. But pray God, once again. Open your heart to Him, once more. Please Rachael.

  2. I felt that there was more than a little of the real Rachael in "Too Soon Goodb’ye." I guess that's why I want to cry every time I read it. I'm glad you wrote it even though the end of the story may be too soon in the future. Something I don't want to live to see.

    I'm sorry. I'm being morbid. I want you to, in the words of Mr. Spock, "Live long and prosper."