“And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore.” My puzzler is sore. There really should be some kind of Aspercreme for the brain – other than Vodka and SSRI’s of course.

No matter how long I puzzle, I can’t figure out when I decided that the “reality” inside my parents house was Reality with a capital R. The way things are. Maybe it was not a single, conscious decision but more like a slow drift or practiced reaction. Sort of like turning into the skid and accelerating when you hit a patch of ice. I do know however, the exact moment I figured out that I could dismantle that delusional Reality.


Not to beat Dr Seuss to death but the Eureka moment – “Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before.” – is as simple as it is profound.

While it is not quite a Bodhi Tree moment, a person knowing the difference between what is real and what is imagined is one of those basic mental health concerns that are currently being de-funded in congress.

Much more puzzling to be done. Making sense of the past to make sense of the present is effortful. Maybe I will sit under the ficus in my dining room and see if anything happens. Introspection that doesn’t require a 50-minute hour.