hypnotist collector

I have been riding this weirdly growing bubble of melancholy of late. I think I figured out the core of it this morning. (I love figuring out the core of it!) The problem goes like this -- I will think that I have a grip on whatever the issue may be, but of course, I don't. Since I think I do, I get more and more agitated by the fact that I'm agitated. (I shouldn't be troubled, I have a grip, after all!) It's a self-feeding cycle of recursive ridiculousness on my part.

In this instance I thought I had things so well in hand, I really knew what was what! Well in hand = Victorian Lady Adventurer who has taken the issue, folded it neatly (like a flag), wrapped it carefully in tissue, put it in a box of just the right size, covered the box with brown paper and tied it with string (either jute or white string, I'm flexible) and filed it appropriately. In my mind, this would be at an establishment which specializes in storing the troubles of Victorian Lady Adventurers. I would hand the box to the clerk (pronounced clark, because of course we're in England) who says "very well, miss" and takes it from me, affixes some sort of cool looking tag with an alpha numeric code stamped on it, and files it somewhere neatly in back. (probably behind cases and cases of mustache wax, since this establishment has to keep a cover (barbershop supplies!) lest the troubles of Victorian Lady Adventurers are used in blackmailing schemes by disgruntled foiled villains.) I'd then turn to my companion and say "we'd best get back to the museum before they open the sarcophagus," and we'd head out of the dim room into the bright day where I would take great pleasure in everything, particularly thwapping people who deserve it (pickpockets, master forgers, etc.) over the head with my parasol. (and then somehow it turns all Mod and I've got a scooter and go-go boots, but I digress.)

But today I realized that I do not have it well in hand. It's not neatly wrapped and labeled behind cases of mustache wax, it's all over the floor! and it isn't something that folds neatly (like a flag) but is instead blobby, difficult to handle and of irregular size (a cross between flubber and Oprah's little red wagon of fat). It has never been contained, but I did throw some newspaper over it so I wouldn't have to look at it. I know this sounds gross and like bad news, but once I figured it out, I felt a lot better. I mean, the trouble's still there, but somehow saying "I see you!" makes it less difficult. I SEE YOU.

And now that I've solved my pressing mental problems, some notes from the park. (where I figured out my pressing mental problem!)
a few things seen today:

+++ crows doing their crow thing. Their crow thing often involves giving me an earful, but I figure it's a friendly earful. ( I can generate quite enough trouble on my own with out having to borrow it from CROWS.) Oh! this reminds me, there is one crow that loves to chase dogs. It's pretty hilarious. The dogs either love it or hate it. The crow doesn't care.

+++ Hummingbird giving the business to a crow. COMEDY GOLD! The butterflies are bigger than the tiny hummingbirds, but the crow was listening. (maybe they were gossiping about the squirrels, or the guy who always leaves 1/4 bottle of fancy microbrew on the end of a tree branch.)

+++ Albino swallowtail butterfly. I'm sure it wasn't really an albino because it had black markings, but instead of being yellowy-orange like they usually are, it was black and white.

+++ kung-fu wallflower -- there was a tall, skinny girl dressed mostly in black, but it wasn't black for chicness or slenderness, but black for maximum invisibility. Nothing flashy, the thing that stood out the most about her was how she barely seemed to be there. I saw her walking on the path, but figured she was just cutting through the park as a shortcut. The next time I saw her she was doing a little stretching, a few minutes later she was slicing up the air with practiced precision. It made me really happy, for some reason.