Secondhand...

(Prompt or not: Secondhand)

~*~

I wonder why the pointers on an analog clock are called hands? Hour-hand. Minute-hand. Second-hand. The second-hand is actually a third-hand. Or maybe the first-hand, if one counts seconds first, before minutes and before hours.

Clocks. Last night I watched Neil deGrasse Tyson taking me into Possible Worlds of light and the history of the scientific discovery of how light works. (Waves. No, particles. Waves and particles?) And how by the act of a witness observing the light, its particles change into waves. Or something like that. And still, no science can explain how that happens. How that just by a witness observing the light changes the way light expresses itself. He spoke of a quantum clock made with the element strontium. 

Strontium?! I take a strontium supplement every day for my bone health. 

Along with calcium and vitamin D and the consumption of leafy greens. And I take the drug Boniva every 6 weeks, right before my every-6-week injections which alternate between a steroid lumbar epidural and steroid cervical spine trigger points. Steroids help keep me mobile, help keep me functioning. I had to start on the Boniva a few years ago in order to continue my corticosteroid treatments. I wish I didn't have to get steroid injections every six weeks and take prednisone every day. 

Roids and I. We have a very long relationship. I could write volumes on their effects, their side effects, their moods and swings and confusion. And the relief they bring. Decades ago I labeled them "the trash can drug." You think you are better, but you're not. They hide symptoms, like putting a lid on a trash can. The trash is still inside. 

As I watched deGrasse Tyson last night, I was enthralled with the idea of possibilities, with the little I know of energy medicine that perhaps most allopathic western physicians consider woo-woo. But, I've had experiences that I can't deny, with energy modalities. 

Today I felt scattered, disoriented, a type of hypomania. Partly, mostly, due to my routine epidural I received Monday. This morning, when I went to unplug my headlamp from charging, the green blinking light would not go off. 

Are you hypomanic too? 

My headlamp works as my reading light. Today my reading included some of Leviticus, which I'm slowly getting through (after detours for Hebrews and Job). Which led me to reading about the history of the God Molech. All the sacrifices and blood shed to these gods. It's appalling. 

I unplugged my headlamp and it just kept blinking, without being plugged in. It does that on occasion. And when it does, it won't turn on. But usually the blinking stops in about 30 seconds. Yet, not today.

After about 3 minutes, I decided to hold it in my palm and try some energy woo-woo, tidbits I'd read up on some years back. Plus, if observation can change the way light manifests, maybe my intention of peace could stop the blinking. 

It worked. 

Probably coincidence. But it's a fun thing to think about.

Monday was my 32nd epidural. I received my first one in December, 2013. I get wearied, but I muster gratitude. In comparison to most of the world, if I die tonight, I've lived a rich life.