Halloween

Went to go get someone a cup of coffee while he waited for a meeting, to find a spider hanging out under where the cup goes.  I had to point it out to someone, because it's Halloween and all, (and that never happens), and then caught it and put it outside, in the sun.  I looked back at it, waving it's little spider legs at me, probably the equivalent of waving its spider fist at me, or flipping me off: the coffee pot was nice and warm, and there was frost outside this morning.  (It'll probably find it's way back in.)

Thought about dressing up as a bat, but woke up late, and it was enough to get out of the house on time.  The bus was overly crowded, either a bus was late, or it's mid-terms and students are attending class today.  A few people dressed up, most memorable of those was a man dressed up as a slice of pepperoni pizza.  I was sitting at the counter eating breakfast at the Sunlight cafe on Sunday, when a little girl a couple of stools over announced in exasperated seriousness that there should be at least two weeks holiday for Halloween.  Everyone chuckled.  Ah, just dress up every day anyway.

I have rehearsal tonight, so won't see any of the trick-or-treaters, if we get any.  Keep thinking after Saturday, we'll get a break, but no break really until after Christmas, performances left and right.  We really only have one gig in the spring.  We had the option of taking next Monday off, but I'm opting to go to rehearsal even though I'd like a break, because we have a big gig on the following weekend, and though we know the music, we haven't rehearsed it much this year, due to all the other gigs.

I'm exhausted, and my stomach has been killing me for the past week.  Pretty much only feel better by walking or curling up in the fetal position.  Have been eating oddly for the past week, so, that's part of it.  Not been home long enough to cook my own food, well, okay, choosing to sleep over cooking.

I was telling a friend that I didn't have clothes for the concert, and she hooked me up with a costume department, I'm going there later today, to see if they have a skirt or dress pants in black.  I'm in the front, but I'm hoping the orchestra is actually on the same level and blocking me a bit: I don't really have the right shoes either, but I'm not gonna worry about that.

Think I'll go walk to the store and buy some Halloween candy; the sun's out and I can't sit still here any more.

Happy Anniversary to my parents!

Day off

Woke up to a glorious morning of not having to get up early, been wanting to sleep in for a while now, looking forward to it.  Still, got up and walked over to the newly re-opened coffee shop down the street to write for a while, and then ate breakfast as well, so that I could read more of the therapy book: I really want to do the work.

I took the day off because I needed a day of good weather to clean up the garden, almost noon, and have yet to go over, but will.  They have to be ready for winter by the end of the month.  And it will be nice to spend part of the day outside.

Went to this "welcome home" potluck last night, for people who'd volunteered or walked/cycled, etc., in Spain over the past year.  Our table connected so well that we pretty much got kicked out at the end of the evening, because we were all still so engaged in conversation.  Got a ride home, too.  It's funny, there was a list of questions at every table to guide conversation, but as I said to someone in the car, you get kinda' use to opening up and connecting with strangers while traveling, that in a group of people who experienced the same thing, it's easy to fall back into the groove.

And part of the writing this morning was still trying to process the month in Spain, last spring.  It was a little over a year ago that I felt the push/direction to go back.  And since it felt so certain at the time, I still am trying to figure out why that felt so urgent, what happened there that I needed to experience?  Maybe it hasn't entirely played out yet.  There was that whole lack of status thing, which is part of it, I think.  And because I spent so much time alone during that month, I wrote a lot, which is something I wanted to do.  And yet, for months I've had a block about processing it, or even looking at what I wrote.  Not sure why.  Maybe I just need a framework, a narrative arc.  I had a long conversation about it with a friend over the weekend (because she asked), and with the woman sitting next to me last night, but have yet to be able to share anything with my family, really, and I'd like to.  It's just hard to explain, everyone that's gone and done it understands, book after book people come to the same conclusions...this is part of the reason for the potluck, to have someone else to process with.  In some ways, nothing at all happened on this trip (and in that nothingness, something also life-shifting), and yet, it's harder to talk about than all the other ones.  Curious, that.

Wednesday

I know my situations are not extreme, (though the kissing things were kinda' terrifying, as they happened in deserted places, with no real escape.  For the first one, I somehow got away from, the second, I started beating with a walking stick I was carrying until he let go, because he had gripped my arm and had started to pull me down the road.  I was backpacking, so it was easy to throw off my balance with the pack weight.)  But that's the thing, how many of these happen every day that people brush off, and what does the accumulation of them do to you?  Who do you tell?  What do you tell?  And at what point has it escalated to a point where it's considered legitimate?  That people believe you?  That anyone takes you seriously, and doesn't tell you you should see it as some sort of compliment?  (The first two people I told said the second man was harmless, only kissed them on the cheek.  Didn't feel harmless to me when he was trying to drag me down the road.)

How does it affect your ability to trust others?  Trust yourself?  Set boundaries, know that it is your right to?  To take care of yourself over considering how your response to the unwanted advance makes the perpetrator feel, essentially giving their behavior more legitimacy than your own right to decide what is and is not acceptable to you?  Because you've been taught to take care of everyone else, even if someone else is harming you; because to stand up for yourself might make them "feel bad."  And at what point did you capitulate to protect your own safety, whether that be actual survival, or to not be socially isolated (because for all the bravado, it's a hard choice to be a social outcast)?

Been feeling triggered all day.  Crying, out of memory, and out of gratitude to the man that believed me.  That validated my experience.  That gave it a name, said that it was wrong and that he was sorry I had experienced it.  Gave me a way out of the nebulous void I'd been stuck in.

Unexpectedly, got to play with a puppy for a while yesterday afternoon, which was good.

And I have a lot of good people in my life.  Am grateful for all of them.

These things help, but, so many people re-living now, what they never should've had to experience at all.  The abuse needs to end.

Me too

This conversation was taking place in the early 90's ("No means No" "I didn't call it rape."), and I imagine it's happened in various places, communities, and times over the years.  I applaud those who have tried to begin the conversation, but right now we have the convergence of awareness and platform to do something about it, and we should run with it, and not shut each other down with finger pointing and who has it worse, and who has been more aware, and who said it first.  This (toxic masculinity, status quo, abuse, harassment) needs to stop.  Now.  With us.

(Not including everything, and not including harassment and discrimination, which are sadly ubiquitous):

My first memory of what I will call a "sexually-motivated" assault I was 14.  It was a physical "roughing up" because I didn't like someone who liked me and he wasn't okay with it.  (He wanted to know why I liked some other guy more than him.  I answered it honestly.  An instance of non-ambiguity, but he punished me for it.)  He yanked my arm and flung me around back and forth, finally letting go so that I fell and slid across the wet grass, staining my pants.  As far as I can remember, he walked away after.  It made my arm hurt.  My friends were there, but I don't think they understood what had happened.  I didn't talk about it, I hated him after that, and we ran in the same circles, so I had to be around him a lot. I witnessed other anger issues with him.  I wrote a short story about the incident that my teacher wanted to publish, but I chickened out, afraid of backlash, afraid no one would believe me.  He was more popular than I was.  I later regretted not publishing it.

The second one was in high school, in my car, someone who had been my friend for a long time, who asked for a ride home.  More of a creepy mauling session.  I told two friends about it later, never spoke to him again.

Post-college, a friend I had a crush on, hit on me at a party, and mind you, I would have slept with him under better circumstances (consensual, non-forced, not in the dirt), however it got scary, aggressive, rough, really fast, and he forcibly shoved me down into the dirt.  The only reason it didn't progress to rape was he had to get off of me to vomit (drunk), and another man had been looking for me and showed up at that point, I got up and ran away.  I told my friends.  (I somehow repressed this one, and remembered it during the election.)

My first time in Spain, in 2005, I was forcibly grabbed and kissed on the mouth two times (by two different men, both times, there was no one else around), and then fondled by a third; all on the same day.  It freaked me out, and pissed me off, because I wanted to travel alone, and I no longer felt safe.  (It also pisses me off that I get discounted on the forums for mentioning it.)

I haven't really talked about it because of not wanting to deal with the emotional backlash, that I had asked for it, that it didn't qualify as assault.  Broken trust and ensuing harassment.  It wasn't until recently, when I mentioned the kissing thing, that a man on a forum told me that it was sexual assault, gave me a permission to give the experience a name.  To let go of the shame that I "asked for it" (especially the car and the party incidences, yeah, I had ambiguity-in the car, I just tried to endure it), to give myself the permission to say "No." I don't think I believed that I could (for a whole host of complicated reasons that I'm still dealing with, I didn't own my own sexuality/body, and I thought I had to give in or I was forever a prude.  I was confused about what was and was not okay.  It was uncharted territory, no guidance, no map.)

Inner courage

I wrote this in a notebook recently, not sure where I originally found it:

"Let mystery have its place in you; do not be always turning up your whole soil with the plowshare of self-examination, but leave a little fallow corner of your heart ready for any seed the winds may bring, and reserve a nook of shadow for the passing bird; keep a place in your heart for the unexpected guests, an altar for an unknown God." 

- From Amiel's journal, translated by Mrs. Humphrey Ward. 

Dreamscape/L Herlevi 2009

 In general, I agree with the sentiment.  Someone suggested a book in this on-line support group, and so I'm examining dark, abandoned corners, hoping to change.  It's those patterns that got programmed young, but now how I automatically respond or act.  The things that probably had their place at one time, but have become constricting and detrimental over time.  I'd like to not always be making my own life harder than it needs to be.  I'd like to get out of my own way.  I'd like to occupy space (to go back to what I kept being told in Meisner, but am understanding more.  Or to quote Kate Winslet's character in that Christmas movie, I'd like to be the leading lady of my own life, and not the support player.)

Wish me the humility and courage to walk through it.

Throwback

I saw the movie Tootsie when it came out in theatres.  I imagine I didn't get a lot out of it, I was a kid, in a small town, with not a lot to do, and we went to the movies.  (I remember seeing 9 to 5 also, but I liked that one more at the time.)  Anyway, I've had an itch to watch it over the past month or so, possibly because I heard the Stephen Bishop song somewhere.  A few weekends ago, I was flipping through channels on the tv and it was on, so I watched the last half.  Last week, I finally went to the video store and rented it.  It's so good.

The cast is strong; the acting, timing, and improv are great (Teri Garr, as Sandy, is hilarious.)  The story's good, basically, Michael Dorsey (Dustin Hoffman) learns how to be a better man by pretending to be a woman.  The writing (plot, story arc, character arc, set-up, resolution), directing, cinematography, editing, all great.

I watched it with the commentary on last night, which was fun.  And Sydney Pollack (director) is generous in the info he shares: helpful for actors, screenwriters, directors, and cinematographers.  He talks about the choices made in all of the above, the why and the how.  I might have to buy it for the commentary, I'm getting a lot out of it.

My only critique would be as to the use of point-of-view in some of the single shots, and this is from sitting in the critiques in the directing for film class, (and it's often shot this way), when the characters are facing each other, and the camera angle is coming in from the side and not over-the-shoulder of the receiving character, I wonder who's looking at the character speaking.  If I'd never sat through the critiques, I probably wouldn't care, and it doesn't necessarily distract from the story, but I notice it now.

Lately

It's feast or famine with my library holds: four at once, including one I wanted to read for the Bingo thing.  On Monday, the  morning was socked in with a dry fog.  In the evening, three hours of singing rehearsal, Oma Maa is sounding good, and we have our first gig of other music this weekend.

Been walking a lot to make up for being immobile for three months.  The trees are glorious, I missed half the summer.  The air is suddenly chilled in the morning.  Everything changing.

Can't find my camera, not a lot of places it could've gotten to, but still, it eludes me.

Saturday morning.  Empty.  A few hardy souls line up in their winter jackets, waiting for the car tabs place to open.  I'm looking for a cash machine.  Later, two hours at the Farmer's Market, talking to people.  Cooking, cleaning out the cabinet, post-ant situation, although, there were still some around.

Digging through 14 boxes to find one small box I offered to give away, and when I was at the point of aching until I wanted to scream, and couldn't stand to be home anymore, I got up and went to a party where I wouldn't really know anyone, but the possible social awkwardness seemed a better option than being alone with my thoughts for the evening.  I was late, but the musicians were still playing, and ended up being people I liked, and everyone was nice; no cliques. Two hours later, I walked home, and I was fine again.  The rain had passed, leaving the pavement wet, but the clouds scuttled across a rising moon, now you see it, now you don't.  It wasn't too late, and if felt good to be able to walk.

On Sunday, a detour home through the ravine, for more nature time.  And then later, having been lazing around the house for hours, watching youtube videos, a walk out to Aurora to donate some old clothes in a drop box, and then continuing around the lake, even though the light was quickly fading.  A glorious evening, Jane's Addiction's "Summertime Rolls" playing in my head the whole time I walked, even though it is no longer summer.  Briefly stopped by the spider metropolis to give myself the heebie-jeebies, but they were down in numbers, and perhaps it was too early for them to be cruising around much.  I continued home, my favorite time of day, post-sunset, pre-fully darkened sky.  Dark enough to not really see the ground, a few of the brighter stars visible, but dreamy all the same.

Insomnia.  Feeling like someone is sticking a knife in my chest, which is hopefully just a hormonal thing, my doctor didn't seem overly concerned, though I did go get a mammogram, which are always fun, if thankfully, brief.  (And I tell myself that if it were a heart attack, I'd probably already be dead, been going on for a while.  It's how I calm myself when I wake up with it in the middle of the night.)  Walking back along rarely traveled paths (for me), enjoying a brief stint of shake-up to my morning routine: boats gleam on the water, piles of small stones in regular intervals on the sidewalk, oak trees with leaves in green, gold, orange, red, and black: magnificent.  A chill in the air, and the sky thickening with clouds, but no rain, yet.  Walking northward, until a bus shows up to get me to work.

Monday

Saw a lot of heavy theatre this weekend (Belarus Free Theatre's "Burning Doors" at On the Boards, a friend's reading of a new play, and Fantastic Z's powerful production of Geoffrey Nauffts' "Next Fall" at the Ballard Underground) and then woke up to the news from Las Vegas.  Comfort and strength to all who are oppressed or suffering.  We have work to do.

Cheryl Waters played this song earlier on KEXP today, and since it was also the song-of-the-day, I've now listened to it about 50 times.  (Anything else feels jarring.)

Iron and Wine, "Call it Dreaming."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=2&v=BXC80ZXQhvQ