Balloons as a base

So I think I gave myself a series of post-hypnotic suggestions last Thursday night. I was feeling pretty stressed out, so I didn’t sleep all night. I’m not sure what I did, but I woke up feeling pretty confused. I suppose it might have just been a typical sleepless night at the hands of my problems, but in fact I felt much better, although I was very tired.

I proceeded to not concern myself with my problems until Monday. As a result, I had a marvelous weekend, thank you very much. I was tired of some useless conversations I’d been having with myself and needed to get focused, needed to get my shit together. Just to prairie dog and survey the horizon.

Somehow I got caught up in this too long, and started to lose track of who I was. I am better now, I remember. During that time though, my mind played tricks on me and I started to believe I was talking to Napoleon. I had no desire to become Napoleon.

If I figured something out about Napoleon, he would fly away from me like an exorcised spirit. I know this is crazy talk, but believe me, it’s true. The spirit of Napoleon inhabits a sculpture my wife had done. The spirit mind you, not a ghost.

A ghost is an ethereal remnant of a person’s identity, while a spirit is an ethereal reminder of their character.

In the past two days, on as many as a dozen occasions I have halted an existing conflict and spoken with calm self-assuredness some difficult and necessary truth and proceeded to offer myself in service to things I have no recollection of evaluating. What am I doing? I keep wondering. Why this person now? And why say that to her? It’s unnerving. I am along for the ride on some vindicating crusade that I’ve programmed myself for. At least I hope it was me.

Napoleon stares down from my office wall. I feel as if I should shiver, but I don’t. Everything seems to be working out well and all my little plans for self-liberating discovery are panning out very well. Somehow it is not for me to foresee my own actions any longer, I can merely embed myself in this moment and feel a well-seated sense of vindication.

I know somehow that I knew this last Thursday. I knew all of this and how it would happen. How everything would pan out if I only rewired myself to do a couple things. It’s as if I lumped all my strategizing into a single neurotic blip and programmed out the whole week so I could get through it with ease.

I wonder what the cost will be in mental faculties? Right now I am glad for it.