I continue to gain insight from my ongoing domestic archaeology project. What follows are a few of the tidbits unearthed by my constantly moving trowel.

Dr H was right about my left arm. When engaged in physical activity, my upper arm quickly develops a strain and I need to nurse it and exercise caution when performing lifts.

As the day wears on I become much more easily frustrated. One positive aspect is that I now observe and sense the onset of frustration and realize that I need to back off, and operate in a much more deliberate manner.

I can make good progress with physical objects but slow to a crawl when it comes to sorting through paper based things. One consequence is that paper documents tend to be shuffled between piles. The paper moves position but is never truly addressed.

I had a headache today. This made me realize that it has been some time since I had one. These once were common everyday events. I believe this is a sign of improvement.

Buddhist monks in the Theravada tradition undertake a vow of poverty. Apart from their robes, the only personal possession was a begging bowl. The same bowl served as a food bowl, a wash bowl, a drinking vessel. One article served a multitude of purposes. I have an aspiration to achieve something similar. As I throw things out, I contemplate the fact that none of these objects will accompany me into the afterlife. Given this fact, I fail to see why I should allow them to burden me in this life.

A degree of reticence has returned. When I review early posts (something I need to do to in order to fix a problem I inadvertently built into the blog), I am a little disconcerted by my freedom to ramble on about depressive events and an impulse to suicide. Being candid follows from an early commitment to an Eric Blair level of objective truth telling. I also suspect that my past “over sharing” has something to do with the injury such that normal social restraint has had a lesser impact. Today I feel uncomfortable reporting on private feelings and emotions and am acting to self censor my scribbling. This has two outcomes. First, it results in an internal debate on the degree to which I adhere to an Eric Blair level of honesty. Second, I believe recognition of this issue may be another sign of improvement. I seem to remember Dr D commenting on this topic at one of our last meetings. I remember puzzling over what she was trying to communicate. I think I now understand.

When I pull my life apart and dig the tip of the trowel into the detritus of my existence, I continue to experience a sense of shock that follows the recognition of my present limitations. Since the accident I have really only used four areas of my dwelling: the kitchen; a small section of the dining area; the bathroom; a slice of my bedroom. I continue to explore areas of the house that have lain untouched since the accident. I find strange objects, puzzle over their use, and pause to reflect on the man who purchased them, moulded them, or altered them in some way. What was he trying to do? What goals did he seek to achieve? Why did he suddenly cease this activity? What was the Pompeii moment that changed his existence forever? What was it that cast him out of his established self and left him with nothing but the husk of the prior man?

Also, I realized I had not sharpened my kitchen knife since the accident. Sharpened it and promptly sliced open my left index finger.

In a similar vein, I went to replace a burned out light bulb only to discover that I have thrown out my entire stock of light bulbs.

As I clean up, I constantly encounter the line of demarcation between then and now, the person I once was versus the person I am today. This confrontation with evidence of loss, be that loss of function, or loss of interest, or loss of emotive content, is very difficult to accept.