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I am not on YouTube or social media
Don't break the fourth wall
'You are so measured'
[ 4 minute read ]
Just lately, everybody has wanted a piece of me. I feel like that stretchy toy of the 1970s (I think it was then), the one that kids could seemingly pull its arms and legs to extreme lengths. I don't like it. 'Yes, how can I help you?' 'Oh, hello. What a surprise; yes, of course I will'. I am not someone who demands other people's time and attention. It is no secret that I abhor SmartPhones. The blog post I wrote 'The Lighthouse of My Mind' (Tags: dopamine, connection, isolation, PTSD, similarity) makes it clear that I regard constant social interaction as being no better than poor quality furniture in 'The Sims': low level top-ups that deny us recognising what comfort and relief really is after any kind of absence of it.
The Open University asked me how they can help, because I have PTSD. Kindly, they want to set things up early for me; you know, make sure I am comfortable with stuff and how would I like the tutors to be. Really? There are two things here. Just leave me alone and let the tutors be however they want to be. If I am completely honest though, my response to the gentle probing is probably more indicative of outside influences that have quite severely bothered me; and a reluctance to explain something that is a dark cloud that is invisible against a dark background.
We all have the same dark cloud sometimes. Dark clouds are a warning that something foreboding or treacherous or heavy is coming. That isn't really what I mean by 'we all have dark clouds sometimes'. I think I mean that we have a fullness, such as, we expect rain when we see dark clouds on the horizon. Story-writers use them as 'Uh Oh!' but I suppose I might think of my dark cloud of the last few weeks as 'I need a dump'. Maybe I need a refreshing break at a place that can teach me Yoga and Pilates. Even the thinking of it makes me feel lighter. Essentially, I told The Open University to leave me alone because I am tired.
Normally, I leave about twenty or so tomato plants outside my house for people to take; I grow them specifically for that purpose. I have had so many visitors though that I am running out and there isn't any for the neighbours and passer-bys. There never was. Selfishly, this year I had an idea to keep all the plants myself, about forty, and then have a constant stream of tomatoes to eat, but these last two weeks it has been; 'Here! a couple of leeks (pulled from the garden as they watch) and have these three tomato plants and oh! some mint too'. My garden is getting quite sparse. I suppose that is the price for actively deciding to be selfish instead of just being selfish as a natural character attribute. Trying to be selfish seems to mean that we are not. I often feel that other people are blind to other people and giving something of value away is just too much. The last two weeks has been for me, 'Here, take my hopes and dreams with you'. The tomato plants were started in March and carefully nurtured. I would tilt my head to one-side and coo at them, 'I can't wait to see you bigger and abundant with fruit, my little beauties'. Yet, I am gratified to see the joy that my guests (mostly officials) get from armfuls of 'leaving presents' though. The pleasure I experience is short; much shorter than if I kept the plants and tasted the fruits over a couple of months; and of course, it is supremely therapeutic for me to wander around in a garden plucking foodstuffs from the ground.
Here then, is an idea of the different values we place on our resources. My time is precious to me, but lately I have given it to other people who have no idea of the price. Many of the people see it as cheap. My past time was spent usefully, planting seeds and spending months growing leeks, but has largely ended up being so someone else has a pleasant future, which I didn't plan for. They will have the long fun time of growing tomato plants and the very short time of munching on leeks that took over six months to grow.
It is the transition period, the crossover-point, the time when mine became theirs; and the smile and thanks lasted only a few seconds; when reciprocal futures and fortitude changed or were swapped, that interests me. I think there is a beauty and a magic that is often overlooked in that liminal slit. It is a place in which I would like to live a lot more than I do; but oh, the cost!