Fixin' A Hole

I'm fixin' a hole where the rain gets in and keeps my mind from wandering.

Catchy words, those (courtesy of Paul McCartney). But of course I never knew how closely they would eventually apply.

Of course I'm thinking of the word wandering in this case according to its implication of a freedom to roam and range far and wide, and to do so in a smooth, well oiled manner, as opposed to the jerky, stop and start manner of the MS brain I've ended up with. Which, admittedly, may not have been what McCartney was thinking of.

My mind now achieves one thing at a time, usually through a series of errors and corrections, which often enough includes a certain ingredient of comedy. Thankfully. A prime example can be found in the daily routine of simply getting out the front door with everything I intend to take with me. The challenge is new every day, despite the fact that the routine itself is most often exactly the same as the day before.

The needful things include my car keys, my laptop, my cell phone, my cigarettes, my coffee cup, and of course my person. Oh, and my clothing, my shoes, and such-like. My brain cleaves to this task during the performance of the same like a dog about to be dropped into the bathtub. After anywhere from one to five or six return trips to the door, I finally reach the car and I'm on my way. Often enough having forgotten something despite my efforts.

Fixin' a hole where the rain gets in. Yes, my brain finds ways. The thought runs into a snag, teeters on the chasm where a bridge used to be, and then straightaway seeks an alternate route, the long and winding road, over hill and dale. It takes whatever way it can, and it gets where it's going, no matter how many times it has to restart the maze.

And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong or right, it sings. Where I belong I'm right . . . where I belong.