Crazy Anger

Good morning readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

I overslept, which almost never happens to me.  Thoroughly pissed-off the chickens [their protests finally woke me] and the felines.  Appropriate enough, I suppose, because I came out of sleep seething with anger.  An anger that’s been simmering inside me for a few days, but I somehow was ignoring.

One of my favorite authors, Sir Terence David JohnTerryPratchett[], Jeanne told me, has himself a case of Alzheimer’s.  Hell, evidently he announced it to the public in 2007 and everyone in the world but my humble self knew it.  Not that my knowing of it would have made any difference, except maybe if I’d been digesting the fact I’d have reacted in a more rational way than I did having it come as a surprise.

Found, I did, that I’d almost been thinking of Pratchett almost as a family member or close friend gradually over the years, which also caught me by surprise.  The guy has a mind works so similarly to my own that when I read his books I sometimes found myself sort of juxtaposed, me creating his character, his dialogue, his plot, laughing as I did it.

So, time to go root hog or die back into my anger management rituals, I reckons.  Time to bring discipline and routine back into the gratitude and forgiveness affirmations.

Forgiving old Terry for maybe dying before I do.  Forgiving myself for being the flawed bastard I am, falling off the wagon, letting anger seep into my head.  Forgiving the Universe for tossing a challenge of the sort Alzheimer’s brings into our lives which seem plenty challenging enough already, everything else being equal.

I’m surely going to miss knowing Terry Pratchett’s out there doing what I ain’t doing better than I could have done it.

Old Jules

13 responses to “Crazy Anger

  1. “out there doing what I ain’t doing better than I could have done it.” Perfect!

  2. There are approx. 170 possible genetic combinations in humans, which explains why every now & then you may notice someone who uncannily resembles another’s physical attributes. Don’t see why this shouldn’t affect personality attitude, as well. Nonetheless, each of us is unique…

  3. Anger as a response to an incurable disease is warranted. Life sucks.

  4. I had the good fortune to meet him in Dundee about ten years ago, at a book signing. Nice guy, and his condition is a tragedy. The only good thing is that he has helped raise awareness a great deal. One of my favourite authors too.

    • foinaven: I had the good fortune to meet him in his book, which I’ll settle for as an alternative. Sheeze, all those good writers peeling out of the formation and scattering their ashes into history is going to create a hole difficult to fill. Gracias, J

      • I know what you mean, Jules. I have been reading his books for near on 30 years. He created something which feels almost real inside my head. I’ll always be grateful for that.

        The only consolation is that there are other writers still out there, and new ones coming through. I can’t put it as poetically as you did, but it is sad to see so many favourites pass on. One I wish I could have spoken to was Robertson Davies.

        All the best,


  5. It is very angry-making. He’s a funny intelligent insightful man. I can take small comfort in the hope he remembers the lives of his characters better than what he had for dinner. Millennium hand and shrimp!

    • heretherebespiders: I’m feeling more unangry about it now I’ve had several hours of conscious effort devoted to the problem. Shore do respect the guy, though. If I ever have that challenge to face I hope my cats will forgive me. Gracias, J

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