The Blog:

What Lies Beneath

What Lies Beneath

Dr. Flo
September 2, 2022

t’s the end of the world as we know it. It’s the end of the world as we know it. It’s the end of the world as we know it. And I feel fine. The lyrics of the R.E.M. song had been stuck in Zofia’s head ever since she turned off the television last night.  She decided not to yet share with anyone the song playing in her head nor the likely reason for it as these seemed like the kinds of things that would depress other people. That’s the last thing I’m trying to do, Zofia thought, looking over her shoulder to make sure that she was still in the privacy of her own company.  The privacy of my own company. What comfort I’m beginning to feel in the privacy of my own company.  Thank God.

Zofia had attended only one meeting of Cannabis Anonymous since her arrival at the guesthouse two weeks ago.  It had only taken one share from one participant in the Zoom meeting to lead her to believe that the timing for undertaking this particular endeavor was NOT NOW.  Luckily Zofia didn’t have to explain that conclusion to the others as they were all there listening to the share.  Hearing the thirty something year old woman living in Denver share in the meeting how difficult she was finding it to make friends who don’t use Cannabis, there was no need to even consider calling for a group conscience.  The look on everyone’s faces said it all, That issue’s just going to have to wait…on the back burner for now.  More important to the overall Recovery of Chop’s Sanity was getting the hell out of Houston…getting the hell out of Texas…and that Declaration was becoming less and less frightening and more and more serenity-inducing.  When Dr. Flo had booked the condo for their month-long November stay in Denver, it was in response to her long-time friend Lizzy’s comforting suggestion that she plan a vacation.  “That’s a great idea,” Flo had said with gratitude, “Certainly no harm in checking out how it feels to be somewhere different.  I just don’t want to ‘pull a geographical’ because wherever you go, there you are, you know?” Her friend Lizzy had agreed with that logic.  Yet - as time marched on - and as each member of the guesthouse began doing their own research into the possibility of making a permanent move - Flo’s working hypothesis about the likelihood of greener pastures outside of their current physical environment grew stronger.

Last night’s experience had almost completely cinched the plan and sealed the deal.  After so much enjoying the Tori Amos concert he attended by himself last April, Milo had purchased a ticket to see the band Imagine Dragons in the Woodlands on September 1.  As the date of the concert began to approach, Milo began having second thoughts about attending.  “I can’t tell if it’s just my desire to isolate and avoid or if I truly don’t want to go anymore,” Milo had said, running it past Dr. Flo in an attempt to gain insight into his motivations and intentions.  “Hmmm…well…we can always just go ahead and drive that way and see how you feel as we go.  Maybe it’ll help clarify something about yourself to yourself,” Dr. Flo had so wisely recommended.  And clarify it did.  Driving through 5:00 traffic from one end of Houston to the other was eye-opening for them all.  “This city sucks!” Ice Pick growled.  “I forgot how much I loathe it,” he continued.  “I’ve been wanting to get the hell out of here since 2012,” Leo noted.  “I just didn’t want to say anything to the rest of you in case you felt differently,” Leo added sheepishly, recognizing his continued struggle with codependency in the statement.  “Having to drive over an hour to reach a friend who lives IN THE SAME CITY IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS!” Ice Pick’s irritation began to boil over.  “I’m so glad that there are more reasons to consider moving than that of just getting away from the triggers of Kari memories,” Dr. Flo added her two cents.  “Guys, what say we turn around and go home?” Milo proposed.  Chop’s eyes lit up at the thought of the rebelliousness of that idea.  “But we already spent the money for the ticket…and we already drove 45 minutes of the way there,” Chop said.

Zofia saw an opening for her to contribute to the decision-making process and took it.  “I imagine that it might be a different kind of win if we were to just let that go.  How about we do what we really want to do this time?  How about the possibility that sometimes not sticking to the plan is the better plan?”  Dr. Flo smiled and nodded her head, feeling warmth in her chest as she reviewed the talks she and Zofia had been having over the last couple of weeks.  Zofia’s presence and unique perspective had been helping Dr. Flo’s mind open up to some options that she likely wouldn’t otherwise have considered.  Dr. Flo was beginning to peel back some more of the layers of that proverbial onion in order to find what lies beneath.  Beneath dependence on Cannabis, beneath addiction to “love,” fantasy, and validation, beneath emotional dependence on Kari, beneath excessive rumination about the “right” choice, beneath all the myriad ways that the term “codependency” showed up in the lives of the members of Dr. Flo’s guesthouse, beneath all that, was something quite significant.  Of great importance.  Perhaps the meaning of it all? That was probably going too far.  Possibly, at the very least, the next fork in the road.  The call of the next chapter of Flo’s mythology.  The call to action, the call to movement was getting louder and stronger.  Flo was glad she had the next eight months of her apartment’s lease to make ready, prepare, and tie up loose ends.  And she felt great relief all through her body of understanding, insight, and direction.  “No wonder I haven’t wanted to leave the apartment,” Flo said aloud.  “There’s just too much unnecessary suffering to deal with out there while I still live here.”

Dr. Flo and the others made it home from their drive through the city just in time to hear the United States President give an unusual speech.  Once the speech was over and the others had moved on to other pursuits, Zofia’s incessant curiosity got the best of her, and she changed the channel, interested in whether or not the “other” news station - the station of the Wolf -  would report on the speech.  At first she was pleased to see that Wolf News was, in fact, showing coverage of the speech having occurred.  Pleasantly surprised turned into horror, however, as she listened to the spin the commentators put on the speech.  “Just one more reason to motivate us to get the fuck out of here,” Zofia said softly to herself.  She looked up at the ceiling, casting her eyes north in prayer, “Lord, I hear you, I hear you, I’ll get the planning going.  No need for any other signs (or any louder) signs,” she prayed, hugging her knees to her chest.

DR. FLO is a 52-year-old philosopher, and aspiring soul guardian. View Profile

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