Erect Again…

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After a few days of being held by the heel and dipped in the Styx, I feel better.

Refreshed is not the true word, but ‘not drooping’ is a phrase that rubs closer to the point. I am officially erect again and am able to satisfy my audience (if you are not asleep already).

But the place where I was held, when I was dipped in the river, still smarts. It’s not protected. If someone, or something, was to find out my weakness, they could so easily be able to exploit it. My fragility is usually not on display, it’s hidden from even my own sight. Yet every now and again, less frequently that it occurred in the past, my weak-spot makes me vulnerable.

I was vulnerable yesterday when a decision I made seemed to coil up off the ground and attempt to sing its fangs into me. I tried fighting it off, but knew that it knew me. I knew that it knew just where to bite; and it almost did.

Oh, what a sad state of art is man. I am made from clay.

I once tried to model with clay when I was a boy. I was ‘arty’ which is a West Yorkshire term for somebody not being quite right. Painting and crafts were ‘for girls’, my dad used to tell me. He never, ever came see me play football and I played it at a decent level for forty-plus years. Anyway, I tried creating a figurine, a Greek soldier out of clay, but it failed; I failed.

My figure could never stand erect unsupported. 

If I had been God (sometimes I have had very profound Jesus-complex issues – they say that psychopaths share the same issue ), I would have just given up. I would have taken my soldier, pressed hard on his head until is gravitated towards its anus, and then just squished it up into a ball of nothingness that would await the next creative deity to happen along. Fortunately, I am not God, or even one of many lesser gods. I am a supply teacher!

At that point, I attempted to puff out my chest. It ended up with a somewhat inept intake of breath.

There are times when it is wise to take time out from beating yourself up. This is me taking time out:

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I think I look remarkably like…Achilles.

Don’t you agree?

PS

Me reclining:

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In the nud…

Published by

mike2all

This is the story of what happened to me when anxiety took a grip. I lost my senses, I lost my job, and I lost me. I then turned to writing to find those things that had gone missing. How can you teach when you believe that education is a business that is failing in its primary remit of helping to create a better society? Indeed, how can you teach when you believe that you have nothing of value to pass on? The book/blog is the story of my recovery from the absolute darkness of the early days. It is an Odyssey through my life over the last twelve months and a retracing of my steps to discover how I found myself there. More than all of that, it is a re-evaluation and a rejoicing of all that which I call life. Happy reading and I hope it helps. There is madness, Everyday Madness, and not all of it comes from within.

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