Karl (louderback) wrote,

Blood, meat loaf and freewriting

I try to think of it not so much as mayhem but as interpretive dance…

         It's been an uncomfortable day today. I have an aversion to doing things I dislike before breakfast. It's not precisely dysania but I think it's close enough. It's one of the reasons I have a hard time remembering to test my fasting blood sugar. Today the thing I disliked doing was riding across town to my doctor to give him blood for testing. Phlebotomy in the morning! Smells like …defeat.

         Matters were not helped by the fact that I had one of those "white" nights where sleep wasn't possible. I retired early then got up around midnight and spent hours switching between WOW, COV, and POTBS. Ogres, policemen, and French merchant convoys beware!

         My poem of the day (louderbacks, louderpoetry) was spawned by my reflections on writing yesterday. I cut it off a bit abruptly. I could go on forever. It is probably best I do not.

         My sugar as of 16:00 is 139 (7.7). That's down from 335 (18.6) this morning. Things are going my way for a change. Now to see if I can have meat loaf for dinner without slamming my glucose levels back through the ceiling. I am very pleased to have this second "normal" reading within a week. I am doing nothing differently, perhaps my system is finally getting over something.



         The bartender knew who I was before I was able to ask any questions. He just jerked his head toward the doorway at the end of the bar and went back to polishing glasses. I strolled the length of the bar, watching my reflection as I went. Infinite reflections bother me. It is a fine subject for a painting or an artsy photograph but I don't like seeing myself repeated infinitely while I move about. I especially don't like seeing everyone else repeated so. It's disconcerting to me. There's a symbolism that leaves me uncomfortable.
         The doorway, when I reached it, bothered me slightly. It was the same dark wood as the rest of the bar, grimy with age and in need of polish or refinishing. It seemed, though, to be unreasonably old, unpleasantly aged. Though there was only a door frame, it gave the impression of a door being present. How can a door frame give an impression. I don't know. This one did. There seemed to be a barrier defined by the frame. I took a deep breath and stepped through.
         Some barrier was there. I can't easily describe it. Imagine a wall of cobweb, not "web"-y at all but solid. Imagine it is cold. Pushing through that would resemble the sensation you get on entering that back room.
         It took a while for my eyes to adjust. The room was dimly lit by a fireplace on the far right and a few candles here and there. I saw no lights. I looked and found no lamps. There was no wall switch. The tables were all of wood and seemed crudely made. One table held a metal cup - a goblet - and a mug that seemed made of amber glass. There was a place setting nearby. I saw a plate that might have been made of wood and a cloth napkin. As I looked around, adjusting my vision, there seemed nothing modern in the room. It looked just as such a room might have looked a hundred years ago - five hundred years ago. I finally had a personal understanding of the word "eerie".
         In the back corner, far to my left, sat a man. He was dimly lit by an candle that seemed to float above his left shoulder. He faced the door, but was not looking my way. He studied the table in front of him on which lay a spread of tarot cards. As I watched he selected one from a deck and lay it across another. I stepped forward. By peering intently into the gloom, I saw that it was "the magician" across "the star".
         I stepped forward and asked "Brand?"
         Without looking at me he said, "Enter, Fool."

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