Random thoughts

Nature is crazy.  After a mild January, we have days of flurries.  The whole kitchen sink of weather on Saturday morning, from entering into a snow globe to rain to hail to sun.  And Sunday, warm enough to not wear gloves and to come back from the grocery store with my coat unbuttoned, the sun feeling warm.  An hour later, as I left for class, a bit of hail falling in the neighborhood.  Nothing Downtown, three hours later after class, the streets outside were damp from rain.  Back near home, it looked like it had snowed hard, the cars covered.  Someone later told me it had hailed from a while.  This morning, our front porch was an ice rink.

A Little Bit of Everything, February 24/L Herlevi 2018

A hummingbird keeps hovering outside my window, spying on me, and each time I look over, it speeds off.  All the camellia flowers have dropped; perhaps it would like me to put a feeder out.

I think someone told me a secret.

While walking to the bathroom, I suddenly knew the purpose of my life (at least, for now.)  That might sound implausible, but you know, I see no downside to pursuing it.  (And because that sounds so grandiose, I tried to tone it down with qualifiers when I wrote it down.  I originally thought it to myself as a joke, and then realized it was true.  It's pretty mundane, actually.)  It's not related to a specific "profession", and not quite as vague as "to love" or "to be kind" (which are a way of living, and worthy, but too vague, too broad, for me to find direction.)  And I've been already doing it, it was just liberating to have the realization; so that was more of a tap on the shoulder revelation, rather than a thunder clap.  At any rate, it's one less thing to be anxious about, so there's that.

Voice class is almost over.  I haven't figured out how to get through the vocal issue I'm having, might actually need to go see a speech therapist, and keep working the exercises, might be something that takes a while to change.  The class has been, however, super helpful for acting (it is an acting class, but not specifically only for actors): for breath, getting into your body, how to approach text, beat work (even if not specifically addressing that), vocal exercises, physical exercises, etc.

Had an insight last night while working on the text (RFK speech) I'm doing.  She asked me to change pitch, and this has come up before, going to the higher pitch is psychologically difficult, to consciously choose to do it...we change pitch all the time without really giving it much thought.  The choice feels vulnerable, exposed.  This came up in the singing class, singing in an upper range.  And it's a funny thing, because there's the "look I can sing this high note!" on the one hand, and "oh my god, everyone can hear me now that I have to sing this note alone I feel exposed (and found wanting?)" on the other.  Two competing thoughts battling it out.  It's vulnerable, because I still care, because it's out at my boundary.  Also, there's the idea that's floating around that higher voices (and those possessing them) are weak.  I wrote it down in a notebook somewhere, there's more to it.

Connection happens when our vulnerabilities meet; in the places we bleed.

Finding the intangible to hold

Home from a long, difficult, and yet productive discussion.  I realize I'm stonewalling because I feel I can't handle one more loss, so I've built a wall.  And now I realize that I need to grieve.  That there needs to be an outlet in the community for grief, maybe others also do not recognize the need.  And then we need to rebuild the community, remember why we chose each other.

There is no permanence.  The city is rapidly changing.  People are leaving.  New people are arriving.  What can you hold onto?  What's left in the changing landscape?  How do you find compassion for yourself, for community, for others when all you feel anymore is loss?

And there will inevitably be loss, now or later.  We make the choice or let time make the choice and learn to adjust either way.  Are we the agents or the passive receivers, either way a choice is made.  Status quo will not last, so what do we choose?

Something

First, ugh.  Been having a lot of kitchen-sink-style dreams, basically, everything I've read or looked at or noticed showing up in some form.  (A friend had one that I showed up in a couple of weeks ago, where I was trying to organize a parade...pre-news thing.  I just showed up in his anxiety dream.)  Anyway, just took a hard look at some pretty shitty aspects of my life.  It sucks.  What do I do about it?  I'm not sure.  So, that's "ugh."

Had to wear the boot again today, it's supposed to rain tomorrow, so might not be able to wear it tomorrow.  I've been trying to avoid it, it makes me feel like I'm malingering, but the foot pain is killing me, and it was the only way I could walk out of the house, so I gave in.  The pain kept me up most of the night.  Feels like someone has driven a spike into the side of my arch.  I imagine it could hurt worse, but I don't want to feel that.  So, grateful I still have it, and am hobbling around again.  It relieves a little of the pressure.

When I finally forced myself to get out of bed and stand this morning, the sun was just starting to rise.  The blue part of the sky had a magnificent greenish cast to it, and because there were no clouds, where the sun hit, it was a pool of color.  So beautiful.  I walked outside and stood barefoot on the frost-covered porch to get a better view; cold, but I thought the ice might do some good for the pain.

Lent starts tomorrow.  Thinking of trying to give up plastic, not sure how feasible that is, but I'll make the effort, at least be more aware of it.  Also, to pay attention to how much I waste water, and to cut back.  (Ash Wednesday is on Valentine's Day, and Easter is on April Fool's this year.)

Got some cool art stuff happening, and figured out what section of text I want to use for voice class, but have a lot of work/exploration to do with it.  So, I'm excited about all of that.

(And someone informed me that my rabbit is back, but I haven't seen it.  I did see a different one a couple of weeks ago, and two others-hanging out with two raccoons- in a patch of grass under a streetlamp back in December.)

We continue on when everything falls apart around us.

Tuesday

Ah, was so bored mid-way through the day, that once the headache abated, I considered going into work.  I ended up sleeping instead.  Still in that disorienting no-where place.  I don't think it's depression (though, I suppose it could be) more that it's just been January (my least favorite month), and gloomy, and I feel in-between, and lethargic.

Got up feeling like someone had beat my forearms with a metal pole on a cold day, it's fading now, but that's the arthritis. (I never find the right single adjective to describe pain to fill out the forms in the doctor's office.  Would that be "sharp?" "dull?" I don't know.  It is what it is.  And it kinda' depends if I'm still or if I move or try to do anything, changes the quality and intensity.)  I was testing potatoes, made a stew on Sunday, so that could be the reason.

The book is a good candidate for a discussion group.  The whole idea of the nature of blindness.  Why is there one person who can see? The anarchy in the asylum (among a minority, but they took control over everything), what happens when social order breaks down? (And what use were the stolen items or money in the asylum? Or what good was money when the financial systems had collapsed, infrastructure had failed, and anarchy ruled? The stolen goods burned along with everything else.) What fills in the vacuum?  Something will, so do we do that consciously or do we let entropy win by our indecision? How does a democracy function? What keeps those who would be a good leader from stepping forward to fill the void? The person most qualified to lead held back initially, though she takes de facto leadership of her ward, and of the initial group of inhabitants to the asylum (the woman who lit the fire was in the initial group struck by blindness, but a later addition to the asylum.)  In what ways do societies break down? And the different ways people cope to survive in that state.  How people adapt to a new norm.  Where does hope lie? How does it die? What does resignation look like? (Which makes me think of Existentialism.) What does it mean to be free? Why do we cling to the known hell once the doors have been opened and the guards have fled? What do we fear? What does it mean to live?

It's a good book.  I have about 75 pages left.

Silent

Lethargy.  Feeling motionless, not the boredom of before, inaction in a direction I want to move in; overwhelmed by the endless anxiety from the everyday, constant sense of loss, that as soon as I begin to process one, there are more piling up behind demanding notice until it is a white blur.  A lack of permanence, an instability, an inexistence (of perception) of solid ground.  The need before I'm ready, before there is enough information (or in some cases, any at all) to find a new place to stand.

Also, physically, a sense of not quite being well, but also, not quite being sick.  As if my body can't decide, and so remains in stasis.  Been fighting off something for over a week.  Had two good days in the middle, but been scratchy and slightly achy for a few days now, no change in that.  At least the headache has faded, for now.  (And with it, some of the lethargy: I actually have the energy to write, and read part of a book earlier.  An improvement from how I felt when I woke up.)

Took a sick day.  Took an ibuprofen.  Then got dressed and walked down the street to get a cup of coffee because sometimes both coffee and the walk help with the headaches.  It was colder than I expected, wished for a couple of more layers of clothing.  The coffee shop was warm.  A homeless man sat three tables over with a Starbuck's cup and a jar of peanut butter, his belongings further over in the room.  I was glad he had the warmth.  We both sat there for a while, he stopped in front of me as he was leaving, said something imperceptible to me, we looked at one another, acknowledged one another, and then he shuffled out the door.  I finished my chapter and left, as well.

Outside there was a smell of smoke, or rather a match just struck: focused, sulphur, burnt.  Inside the house, too.  I've been reading Jose Saramago's "Blindness" in which people suddenly become blind, their worlds becoming  an instant milky whiteness, society falling into chaos.  And in the chapter I had just finished, one of the women (of an initial group struck with blindness who had been dumped into an unused mental asylum, to keep the "contagion" contained) had just set the ward of thugs/rapists afire, burning them all (including herself in the process) to death, and setting the entire place aflame.  Perhaps the smell of fire was in my head as I walked out.

The play fields of the nearby park have become one massive mud hole from all the rain, once green, now brown, covered in birds.  Robins and starlings chirp and trill in the trees, and the constant traffic din from the freeway runs as a background noise.  The streets nearby are empty of people and cars.  Were it not for the laughter of a child at recess, I'd think the neighborhood had been deserted while I was busy reading a book.

Days pass and I've done very little.  I lack the drive.