Going, going......

Another year. SEVERAL more strands of white making their presence felt over just the last couple of months (gratefully not in an Einstein mimic), accompanied by a distinct lack of wisdom. Middle age is an interesting time apparently, ripe for the appearance of advanced schizophrenia. Apara and the looking glass. Sometimes clear as crystal, sometimes milky and opaque and then sometimes random sightings of the dormouse falling asleep in the teapot only to be replaced by the Mad Hatter’s leer! Anthony Capella’s Food for Love brings a rather compelling image of my brain to the fore, firm with a good colour, the blade slicing through cleanly before being crumbed and fried, the thin slices melting in your mouth… rudely morphing into a morass resembling a mess of untidy scrambled eggs. The former accompanied by a vintage 1970, strong and full bodied, pumping unobtrusively in the background, the latter, an erratic in the throat pounding wrenching the attention to itself.

So why does clarity, coherence and commonsense evaporate into inexplicable confusion, garbled ideas and adrenalin fuelled illogic? Actually, I lie. It doesn’t evaporated. It gets swamped in the deluge of emotion. Therein lies the crux of the matter. The battle is evenly pitched and if I weren’t in the thick of it, it would be a rather interesting insight of the human paradox. The heart and mind, savagely in conflict, ecstatically harmonious, the body struggling to control both excesses within. Gee. I can’t wait for menopause.