It has been a week when the list of things I have to do, or I want to get done, or that need doing, seems to always have one more item I forgot to add, and unfortunately there are no lines left on the "to do"notepad in my head.  And somehow this transforms the world into a panicked place.  A place where  bills will never cease to pile up, errands will always need running to the store, and friends always could use just a little more of my time.  In this panicked world, I am a rubberized figurine being drawn and quartered by the four horsemen of responsibilities.   Always with a bit more stretch in my limbs, when i am pulled to my max, my original form is subtly but substantially changed.  At some point in the process, I can no longer snap back to normal.  Psyches, unfortunately, are less like a measuring- tape's extensions and retractions, and more like gummy worm's extension and bisection.  

And this feeling of having my ability to deal with adversary depleted Plinkos around in my chest, unsettled by the dissonance caused by the mesh of offsetting emotional pegs and the constant unending draw of gravity.  Downwards.  Ever downwards.

And in a life full of cognitive dissonance and juxtaposed feelings, here is the current battle.  On the one hand i am so insanely thankful for my life and the ability to lead it freely that I somewhat regularly have episodes of deep fear involving the contemplation of my own demise (see blog title).  And yet, in appreciating this miraculous and metaphor-laden existence, I also seem strangely attuned to the idea that life is an incredbly difficult, painful, and oftentimes cruel series of events.  We lose those we love.  We find ourselves motivated towards all the things we don't have.  We are bombarded by an "advanced" society that spends a majority of it's social capital convincing the public that there is something wrong with them.  That they either lack something (perfect skin, money, attractiveness, intelligence, cool clothes, a big enough tv, credit, Facebook friends, twitter followers, a significant other, etc.), or they have entirely too much of it (pimples, body fat, vices, fun, cholesterol, dirt, work, free time).  We are born perfect only to be wholeheartedly convinced otherwise for the rest of our lives.  

How do you appreciate this gift of life when it can hurt so much, so often?  Must we constantly be walking the tightrope between gratitude and defensiveness?  

I haven't figured out the answers to these questions.  At least not in any way that seems like a comprehensive solution.  I know appreciating and making time to spend with your favorite humans and animals is part of it.   It points you in the correct direction.  Loved ones keep you facing towards your principles and help prevent you from drifting sideways towards the mirages of quick money, easy fame, and false-friends.  

But even after you have reoriented yourself post-spin, you still have to pin the tail on the donkey.  And often, as i stride forward blindfolded with a confidence that is best described as completely faith based, what i feel in my hands is not a tail, but rather the size and shape of another donkey head.  And i know that I am supposed to pin the second head to the first donkey's rear end in order to win the game.  However,  there is no closure in completing the final image of a donkey replete with two heads.  It instead leaves you searching for the missing ass's ass.  

And this metaphor once again eats away at me because there are days when I feel just like the two-headed donkey, where every way is forwards and backwards simultaneously.  And other days,  I just feel a donkey's ass.