Thursday, January 12, 2006

The Fog of War

The fierce and sometimes bitter opponents are now at violent loggerheads on two battlefields: my mind and my body. War is about control, and in this case I see it in the larger scheme as control of my destiny. Luckily, my true side, (the good side :-) is basically in the mopping up stage of this conflict. The former patriarchal rulers of this kingdom are now engaged in a last ditch guerilla-style effort to assert their lost sovereignty.

There are several fronts in this war:
  • Emotions : every once in a while ninja-like stealth mercenaries from my former psyche impinge themselves into my mental existence. These villains are cold, calculating, and distant; experts at compartmentalizing and censoring feelings and in all aspects of hit and run tactics.
  • Bladder: hormones are raging to and fro in the control centers of this complex machine. Their game is to sabotage any and all functioning excretive pipelines and bladderous dams. They strike at a moment's notice and the results, while rarely catastrophic, have been harmful for morale and disruptive to strategic lines of urinal logistics. As a result, I must resort to many more stealthy, lightning-quick excursions up to the front lines; the traditionally gender-crooked bathrooms.
  • Body fat: the soldiers are bloated on the spoils of victory. I noticed the other day that I have a lot more flab hanging off a couple parts of my body than I ever noticed before. And this isn't due to any lack of exercise on my part - I workout every day! See next item.
  • Eating habits: daily rations are getting tiresome and with the riches of the already conquered battlefields at my feet, I have indulged myself perhaps too much. I never used to wolf down handfuls of sugar-drenched flavored tootsie rolls or cheese curls or greasy french fries. On the other hand, I don't like beer or drinking in general nearly as much as I used to. So those two factors should offset in the struggle to control the field above, right? Think again!
  • Voice: hoarse from the struggles of trying to be heard above the constant din of hormonal warfare, I sometimes find my throat echoing distantly remembered but no longer instinctual male speech patterns; croaking out a patently thoughtless and timber-heavy exclamation or moan.
  • Self-perception: are we really fighting for the right side? Such lapses in morale are few and far between, in fact almost non-existent now that victory is at our fingertips, but once or twice they have raced through my legions like a pandemic or a hurricane; felling once tall, sturdy trees of confidence and forging a path of excessive introspection/self-destruction. But such trees are soon replaced by others, and their roots intertwine with those that survived the onslaught, and so our defenses in the end are strengthened. It may even be that it is indeed advantageous to briefly, and in as controlled a way as possible, let such forces run their course and thus clearing away any dry, hidden, almost dead underbrush and leaving my psychic forest healthier in its wake.

There are certainly times when I find these in-a-way-hidden-and-violent struggles too tiring to even acknowledge them. But then there are many other times when I find myself giddy and eager to thrust myself out onto the forward pulpit of my man o'war; breathing in the roiling sea of changes below and looking forward to braving, conquering, understanding the next wave; the next storm; and arriving at the next new port of call, wherever that may be.

'till then my hardy crew, keep your hopes above board, your actions according to Gunter and your eye on maintaining this annus mirabilis.

No comments: