1. failure or refusal to cooperate.2. a method or practice, as that established in India by Gandhi, of showing opposition to acts or policies of the government by refusing to participate in civic and political life or to obey governmental regulations. Compare civil disobedience ( def. 1 ) , passive resistance.
When both internal and external forces sabotage all efforts to complete everyday tasks by deviating from normal and expected patterns. When one asks oneself, “What the hell is going on?”
For example… it’s winter in the northern hemisphere, and that usually means colder temperatures. Even the ubiquitous Pacific northwest rain transitions to snow in the higher elevations of the Cascade Mountains. We’d finally decided to take a proactive stance and drive to the mountains to pursue winter activities rather than hoping in vain for snow to come to us. However, mother nature refused to cooperate. No sooner had we purchased snow clothes and set a date to venture east when unusual weather patterns swooped in and turned the snow to rain, melting the snow pack and closing most of the local recreation areas.
But that act of noncooperation has nothing on the passive aggressive betrayal that’s kicking my ass lately. My body has gone on strike. When I tell my right hand to pick up a knitting needle, my index finger flat-out refuses to cooperate. This kind of non-compliance would be expected from a middle finger, being of a rebellious nature, but never from a trusty pointer. Being closest to the thumb and the strongest of all fingers, the index is the envy of all other fingers. Pinkies are cute, but weak overall and not much use, except for being held aloft while sipping tea. Unadorned ring fingers are useless, except for their job of buffering the baby finger from that hoodlum middle finger. Middle fingers are the course and unrefined bad boys of the hands. If any finger was to sport tattoos and piercings, it would be the middle finger. Middle fingers pretend to not care that the index finger gets all of the glory, but beneath that callous exterior he too, is jealous of the prestige and usefulness of his shorter brother. So, why in the world would the golden finger go on strike? Then, when the little jerk does actually acknowledge brain signals, he responds with stinging nettle-like sensations. His actions (or lack thereof) have been counter-silenced by his own cone of shame.
Hopefully a few days of isolation will put everything to rights. In the meantime, Mr. F.U. Bird Finger has manned up and is setting a shining example for the other digits.
My wonderful family has been helpful and tolerant, in spite of my complaints and short comings. Yesterday morning I discovered this message left on the kitchen counter from one of my girls. (I absolutely love word games)
Last week when Steven decided to sneak out and low crawl through the mud my DH didn’t hesitate to give him a bath.
Knitting has been slower than molasses in January. I always love using that expression while actually in January! All that’s been accomplished during the past several weeks is this embryonic reversible cable scarf…
and the first, lonely Rivendell sock is finished and awaiting its mate.
Enough smooshy, soft Merino to make a small scarf has been spun too.
However, for the time being, everything here, not just typing, has been reduced to “Hunt and Peck” speed. The detox goes well, and since the third week in December I’ve only had 1/2 a can of Diet Coke! Work keeps me busy, but a major stressor from the past has reemerged and I’m doubting my decision to stop taking Prozac. Life is grande! Hope everyone is grasping his/her future by the horns and marching forward with purpose. Cheers!