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August 15th 2009

    My left and right sides have achieved détente.  I understand from their history that this will be a brief affair, and soon enough they will find something new to fight over.

    I think this recent quarrel began early in June when I cut my left index finger with the small axe.  I was preparing what Virginians call 'lightwood' for the outside stove and I was overly insistent with a particularly knotty piece of pine.  A couple of days later I damaged my left foot with the large axe.  The blade landed close to the little toe and briefly I considered risking the expense of a visit to the hospital.

    The right side dismissed the idea as wasteful because less than five years ago I had already given the medical profession good money for a tetanus shot.  I decided to keep the wound anointed and clean, and if it oozed odd colors I would then seek assistance from the overpaid.  And most likely it was during this time of 'left foot anxiety' that a rift developed between halves.  And too, having lived with them for so long, I can tell myself now that I should have recognized symptoms of growing discord.

    A more orderly mind would naturally maintain a notebook.  It would be neatly bulleted.  And somewhere in that list would be a suggestion that symptomatic of discord between halves appears as a retreat from verbal skills.  

 

    

    I will call it an inability to voice a comprehensible sentence from capital letter to full stop.  In hindsight, the confused stares from those with whom I have recently conversed were not related to cultural disparity, rather they were a reflection of my own dispute within.  I now suspect that when sulking my left side withdraws its contribution from my capacity to communicate.

    Matters came to a climax this past week with heat and humidity and rear passenger side brake line repair.  Snaking beneath a van like the unfortunate grub phase of June Beetle I was nonetheless sufficiently successful to attain the high honor of being offered a job by a professional in the business of vehicle repair.  And yesterday afternoon, or perhaps this past night, one of my two parts surrendered.

    This morning I was able to describe the location of a pink blooming Mallow on the Main Street of our town.  I was able to do this in one flowing, comprehensible and soothing moment.  I did so without hesitation, without gesticulating, without ill-temper and without reference to the town map that lies hidden somewhere in the kitchen.  And most important, I was able to do this without first assuming I was in company with a mind reader.  

    For some, this might appear to be an ordinary achievement.  But for those of us within whom there is sometimes dispute between halves, these are good times.  So best not to abuse them with those tangential and drifting verbal offerings from the right side, that both upset my left side and lend credence to the suggestion that incoherence is actually a permanent condition in me. 

    

tim candler

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(Grub of June Beetle)