Attachment

I wrote a joke once, to the effect that I’ve been talking through this loudspeaker I found in my crib 82 years ago and just now notice it’s not plugged in! Except it wasn’t and isn’t a joke. What’s missing is the connection. I think I became a psychotherapist to have somebody to talk to.

Here I sit alone at my computer which says it’s 7:09 p.m. Sunday October 15, 2017, eating chocolate ice cream. Is all right with the world? Is that a line from a poem? Some things are called rhetorical but I must be misspelling it because i can’t find it in the dictionary. When I dip into the meanings of retort I find cold comfort: to hurl back, to retaliate, to hurl the first speaker’s words back at him. Oh, there it is…rhetorical question: a question asked merely for effect with no answer expected. Well, that’s kind of a waste of time, isn’t it?

NOW I remember how I got off on this topic! Earlier tonight I read the blog post Forming Attachments and Bonds, by

bipolarbree1 , whose early life was in a Russian Orphanage. I do remember that two movies in my past that struck me the hardest

was the scene from –was it War and Peace where “he” was on a train and sees his lost love out the window and can’t get her attention and the train continues to the hinterlands and he can never find her again, forever, and I think the other movie that had such an impact on me was One Came Home (?) where a wounded soldier has what we would call locked in syndrome now–they assume he’s a vegetable until a nurse sheds a tear that drops on him and his response tells them all he is still alive and aware.