Back to the sobering reality of every-day life: everyone is dressed in practical black, ready for business. I've been feeling like I had too many days off, just feel like I won't remember how to come back; doesn't really make sense, but how I've been feeling. I don't tend to feel this way after vacations, I think not having a schedule of any kind threw me off. Guess I like a little bit of structure in my life.
In five days, the view to the sky has opened up more, like returning to some place I haven't quite been before, having to become reacquainted.
Earlier, I got a bit of a sucker punch. I later realized in might have in part been my own fault: my stress levels have been high, have been inundated with emails, and might not have responded the most important time, after responding to a request five or six times (over multiple sources of input) over the past few months...I lacked the attention span to read to the bottom of a longish email. Been happening a lot. I might have missed out regardless, but my lack of response didn't help. Sigh. (I can't keep track anymore, four months was a long time to follow a spec over multiple threads on multiple media. It was regarding a job lead.)
Feeling unsettled, in general. Not sure what it is I could do to change that. And I don't know where I want to be. I need to focus on something, but I feel like I'm being batted at from all sides, and maybe that's a distraction so that I don't end up doing anything at all, trying to get a clear view to see what's what. What to trust. Who to trust. Wanting to believe words, but not seeing clearly what lies behind them. And I'm all in for altruism, but it has been at the expense of helping everyone else move forward without my moving forward, and I think I need to find a better balance.
And then the moments of serenity and unexpected connection, for which I'm grateful for before sliding back into chaos.
A friend of mine passed along a book on the Spanish Civil War to me, because of Catalonia; he'd just read it for a book group. And I'm also reading two books about trees ("The Songs of Trees," by David George Haskell, and "The Hidden Life of TREES," by Peter Wohlleben), a book about animals also by Wohlleben, and a Co-Dependency book. The long-form writing actually helps with my attention span, so I get some break from my high-keyed state.
I should just get through every thing I possibly can do, probably cut back on the caffeine. (And take a another media fast: Humanity, you're leaving me heartbroken.)
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Thursday, November 23, 2017
On Thanksgiving
When I was caught in the torrential rain, I was/am thankful that my destination kept me sheltered from the storms. Thankful for the electricity and heating. Thankful for a stove and the ability to easily prepare food for myself. Thankful for my job. Thankful for the cheerful messages written on the coffee cups this morning, by people who had to work this morning instead of being home. Thankful for the choirs that I sing in, for the community, the music, and experiences being a part of them has brought into my life. Thankful for the daily proximity to nature. Thankful for my garden, for the creatures that live there, for the chance to get my hands in the dirt. Thankful for my education, and the twisted path that has taken. Thankful for art in my life. Thankful for music. For music and stillness and touch when words are not enough. Thankful for my family, and my childhood friends. Thankful for all the people in my life, for those who have offered unconditional love, and for those who have offered challenges; the first because they believed in me and gave me courage, and helped me to love myself, and the latter because they helped me to grow and be a better version of myself. I'm thankful for the privilege to travel, and for the community that has come into my life from that. I'm thankful for the rain, and sunlight, and snow. Thankful for the seasons, and the migrations of birds. Thankful for trees and water and sky. Thankful for all the strangers (and friends) that have taken me in, for shelter, for celebrations, for support. Thankful for all the friends i have now. I'm thankful for 2nd, 3rd, 4th chances, thankful for the effort. And I'm thankful for being alive now, in this moment in time.
Wednesday, November 22, 2017
Maybe it's the prednisone
I just had this random memory pop up from my sophomore year of high school. I guess the recent passing of Malcolm Young of AC/DC made me think of the song "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" which made me think of my friend's little brother who really liked the song. And then I remembered doing something stupid one afternoon after coming home from school which resulted in my cutting my arm open in three places, and since no one was home at my house, somehow going to the neighbor's across the street with my arms bleeding. It was just my classmate, and her younger brother and his friends (one of whom was my other friend's brother) home at the time. They let me in, and I think it was my classmate who took care of me. But the junior high boys were standing around me, probably a little bit of "Carrie" fascination going on, but I think they were also generally concerned. Someone got ahold of one of my parents, or someone, because I had to go to the hospital and get stitches. And I got yelled at for the dumb thing that I did (even if I had a good reason for doing it, it was admittedly the wrong choice: I broke something, that then cut me.) My family's first reaction at the time tended toward yelling, "Why did you do that?" rather than asking how I was. Maybe that was a stress reaction. I imagine they cared on some level, I suppose they had a hard time showing that in a way I could understand. (Now I would say we had different love languages. And I understand why I got yelled at, I deserved it, but I also needed the spoken or demonstrated concern for my well being, in a way I could see.)
Anyway, I had just walked into the bathroom when I remembered this, and burst out crying for some reason, my face was soaked. And I had to stay in there until I stopped and could wipe it with my hands, since I didn't have a towel with me, and I didn't want to freak out my housemate as a sobbing mess. It was the memory of the junior high kids giving a damn, but even more so, I had friend, and we'd been friends since we were three years old, and I was over at her house a lot, but her father pretty much kept to himself; I don't think in all those years he'd even said a full sentence to me. He checked up on me that evening to make sure I was okay. Yeah, that thought of his concern is still making me cry. He passed away some years ago.
The next day, I went to school with bandages on my arms. After PE, one of my friends made a half-assed rumor/joke that I'd tried to commit suicide. The other girls chided me, not in an unkind way, "Liz, why you wanna' kill yourself." I may have been depressed in 10th grade, but I wasn't suicidal. Just did dumb shit at times.
And I'm fine, I was having a pretty good day today. Not sure why I'm remembering that.
Anyway, I had just walked into the bathroom when I remembered this, and burst out crying for some reason, my face was soaked. And I had to stay in there until I stopped and could wipe it with my hands, since I didn't have a towel with me, and I didn't want to freak out my housemate as a sobbing mess. It was the memory of the junior high kids giving a damn, but even more so, I had friend, and we'd been friends since we were three years old, and I was over at her house a lot, but her father pretty much kept to himself; I don't think in all those years he'd even said a full sentence to me. He checked up on me that evening to make sure I was okay. Yeah, that thought of his concern is still making me cry. He passed away some years ago.
The next day, I went to school with bandages on my arms. After PE, one of my friends made a half-assed rumor/joke that I'd tried to commit suicide. The other girls chided me, not in an unkind way, "Liz, why you wanna' kill yourself." I may have been depressed in 10th grade, but I wasn't suicidal. Just did dumb shit at times.
And I'm fine, I was having a pretty good day today. Not sure why I'm remembering that.
Day off
Another decadent weekday off. Made a list of things I should do at some point, but there is a beauty in the idea that I don't have to accomplish any of them today. I thought earlier that I would anyway, but it's already after 3 pm, and I've added stuff to the list, just so that I can check them off. It's funny too, how usually it's just one or two things that are important to get done, but I'll pad the list out with "Take Vitamins," "Go for Walk," which I will then proceed to do, just so I can feel like I did something, when what I really need to do is "Make Phone Call," or "Send Email Reply." I waited too long to get around to "Do Laundry," but snuck in between someone else's...didn't realize he was actually home. It's all figured out now.
Ducked into the library just as it was starting to rain again, got a walk in between showers. The clouds are moving swiftly, so the rain doesn't last all that long. Thumbed through cookbooks while I waited for it to pass, then went and ate comfort food (i.e., Mexican...actually, second time today.) And was blinded by the sunlight glaring off of the wet pavement as I finally made my way back home. It was balmy, almost 70 degrees this afternoon, which is ridiculous for late November.
I need to make something for a Thanksgiving dinner I'm going to. Said I'd make cranberry sauce and a pie, might make a cauliflower thing, too, but kinda' depends on how bad the weather is, and what buses are running tomorrow. It's supposed to rain.
Out of my window I can see a bunch of white birds circling the sky, when they catch the sun, they glow like glittering lights against the dark clouds, slowly drifting to the east, until they are out of sight.
Went to a play last night, a PWYC night at Seattle Rep. It was sold out when I got there, but they still sold me a Standing Room Only ticket, said it was the last one. I got to sit in the end. It was "The Humans" by Stephen Karam, basically centered around a family's Thanksgiving dinner, dysfunctional, but relatable in that dysfunction (which was obvious in the laughter, tears, and at least one time, shout, from the audience.) About the choices we make to survive, to get by, to cope, and how a single decision can drastically, and in this case irreversibly, destroy the future you had planned for. The more I reflect on it, the more I like it. The casting was outstanding as well. It was wonderful, and really sad.
When the play got out, the rain was just dumping down. It rained so hard that Mercer St. pretty much flooded from Warren Ave N to 5th Ave. 5th and Mercer was a lake. I ducked into the QFC (grocery store) to grab a sandwich, and on my way back out, three clerks were standing under the awning outside, watching the SUVs throw up walls of water as they drove through the intersection. Surprisingly, was not flooded at the bottom of the hill, but my clothing was all still wet this afternoon, hence, the laundry.
I'm gonna check the laundry, and get some writing in.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Ducked into the library just as it was starting to rain again, got a walk in between showers. The clouds are moving swiftly, so the rain doesn't last all that long. Thumbed through cookbooks while I waited for it to pass, then went and ate comfort food (i.e., Mexican...actually, second time today.) And was blinded by the sunlight glaring off of the wet pavement as I finally made my way back home. It was balmy, almost 70 degrees this afternoon, which is ridiculous for late November.
I need to make something for a Thanksgiving dinner I'm going to. Said I'd make cranberry sauce and a pie, might make a cauliflower thing, too, but kinda' depends on how bad the weather is, and what buses are running tomorrow. It's supposed to rain.
Out of my window I can see a bunch of white birds circling the sky, when they catch the sun, they glow like glittering lights against the dark clouds, slowly drifting to the east, until they are out of sight.
Went to a play last night, a PWYC night at Seattle Rep. It was sold out when I got there, but they still sold me a Standing Room Only ticket, said it was the last one. I got to sit in the end. It was "The Humans" by Stephen Karam, basically centered around a family's Thanksgiving dinner, dysfunctional, but relatable in that dysfunction (which was obvious in the laughter, tears, and at least one time, shout, from the audience.) About the choices we make to survive, to get by, to cope, and how a single decision can drastically, and in this case irreversibly, destroy the future you had planned for. The more I reflect on it, the more I like it. The casting was outstanding as well. It was wonderful, and really sad.
When the play got out, the rain was just dumping down. It rained so hard that Mercer St. pretty much flooded from Warren Ave N to 5th Ave. 5th and Mercer was a lake. I ducked into the QFC (grocery store) to grab a sandwich, and on my way back out, three clerks were standing under the awning outside, watching the SUVs throw up walls of water as they drove through the intersection. Surprisingly, was not flooded at the bottom of the hill, but my clothing was all still wet this afternoon, hence, the laundry.
I'm gonna check the laundry, and get some writing in.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Tuesday, November 21, 2017
To stem the inertia
The bright lights make the morning seem darker than in actually is. We are in the season of darkness and water. So much water, the sky wrings itself out.
I've just started prednisone again, and I feel weird. My doctor spent an hour with me, trying to get me to come in and get a drug infusion to calm the inflammation, but in the end, agreed to let me go back on prednisone and anti-malarial drugs. She also gave me a shot in the hand the other doctor said wouldn't help. Does it help? I don't know. I can't tell yet, over the weekend it hurt more, but maybe it's less swollen. Doing nothing hasn't really been helping. Constant pain becomes a bit of a background noise, because you have to go on living, but that doesn't mean learning to live with it is the only option. There's not really a point in being a martyr.
I figured out the notebook thing, but then had some deep experiences last week that seem more important than anything else I could say, and haven't figured out how to talk about them, or if I did, how much to. (And I feel like we have to fight all the time just to keep things from getting worse. More people are waking up to injustice; and many people are taking a deep look at themselves and seeing where they are part of the problem, and that's hopeful, but we continue to slide backward.)
Sometimes I feel like nothing changes, like I never do anything, but then I've also had really deep shifts this year: a couple of profound (one kinda' painful, one not) moments in Spain about identity/status/judgment; and more recently about settling and accepting the scraps others are willing to offer, and why I (or anyone) should believe that's all we are worth, and why we don't reject it outright. Do we believe it's the best we will ever get? I'm glad I've been experiencing all of this. It opens my eyes (and my heart) to my own life, but also to what others have been experiencing. My life (and yours, by extension) has as much worth as anyone else's; so why am I expected to be ecstatic for the crumbs, that the one offering would never put up with? (Related to privilege, too, so when we become aware of our own, how do we change?)
I am grateful for all I'm learning about myself. I'm grateful for the exposure of my tender spots that I'd been protecting so fiercely I'd forgotten they were still there, for knowing they still need love and attention. I'm grateful for seeing my own shortcomings, for the opportunity to grow.
And if we want there to be change in the world, whether larger or immediate, we have to be willing to change as well, to give something up (ideas, fears, privilege, inertia, safety of the familiar, the past, nostalgia) and create the space for new things to enter and take root. Love is action. Words and promises are meaningless until we back them up.
I've just started prednisone again, and I feel weird. My doctor spent an hour with me, trying to get me to come in and get a drug infusion to calm the inflammation, but in the end, agreed to let me go back on prednisone and anti-malarial drugs. She also gave me a shot in the hand the other doctor said wouldn't help. Does it help? I don't know. I can't tell yet, over the weekend it hurt more, but maybe it's less swollen. Doing nothing hasn't really been helping. Constant pain becomes a bit of a background noise, because you have to go on living, but that doesn't mean learning to live with it is the only option. There's not really a point in being a martyr.
I figured out the notebook thing, but then had some deep experiences last week that seem more important than anything else I could say, and haven't figured out how to talk about them, or if I did, how much to. (And I feel like we have to fight all the time just to keep things from getting worse. More people are waking up to injustice; and many people are taking a deep look at themselves and seeing where they are part of the problem, and that's hopeful, but we continue to slide backward.)
Sometimes I feel like nothing changes, like I never do anything, but then I've also had really deep shifts this year: a couple of profound (one kinda' painful, one not) moments in Spain about identity/status/judgment; and more recently about settling and accepting the scraps others are willing to offer, and why I (or anyone) should believe that's all we are worth, and why we don't reject it outright. Do we believe it's the best we will ever get? I'm glad I've been experiencing all of this. It opens my eyes (and my heart) to my own life, but also to what others have been experiencing. My life (and yours, by extension) has as much worth as anyone else's; so why am I expected to be ecstatic for the crumbs, that the one offering would never put up with? (Related to privilege, too, so when we become aware of our own, how do we change?)
I am grateful for all I'm learning about myself. I'm grateful for the exposure of my tender spots that I'd been protecting so fiercely I'd forgotten they were still there, for knowing they still need love and attention. I'm grateful for seeing my own shortcomings, for the opportunity to grow.
And if we want there to be change in the world, whether larger or immediate, we have to be willing to change as well, to give something up (ideas, fears, privilege, inertia, safety of the familiar, the past, nostalgia) and create the space for new things to enter and take root. Love is action. Words and promises are meaningless until we back them up.
Monday, November 6, 2017
Monday
Had recently been thinking that I don't get as many headaches as I used to, only to wake up this morning with splitting pain. Drank three glasses of water, and found a stray ibuprofen to take and that kept it at bay, but now it's returning. Sigh. Wasn't sure if it was dehydration or my sinuses, or a combination. I hardly drank anything yesterday, I need to find new ways to change that; I drink enough on work days, but not so much on weekends. (Also, house is probably dusty from furnace being back on.) It did get me out of the house early (just after 6:30 am, to go buy coffee and sit some place without dust) and consequently, early to work.
Got concealer on the skirt (had a very clumsy morning on Saturday, dropping things left and right), and was supposed to return it today, but have finally managed to muster the courage to tell the shop about the stain, and ask what I should do about it. I'm leaning toward taking it to the cleaners, it's acetate, and while I did finally get the make-up out, it created another stain in the process. I haven't heard back, yet.
The concert was a kick! It was fun to be on that stage, even with half a house, I think the people there enjoyed it. We sat in the house for the first half, and it sounded great. The whole experience was fun, the rehearsal, the professionalism of the hall staff, the decent bathrooms and changing spaces, the staff calling the entrances, etc., so that all we had to worry about was following someone else's directions, and then going out there and performing. That was awesome. A friend of mine came, too, and that made me happy. (Joining this choir has opened up a lot of cool experiences: the Finland tour (and everything that was a part of that), singing at Folklife, and while this is the second time we've sung at Benaroya, it's the first time we've sung from the stage, and in general, we have a lot of public performances, which has made me braver. And made me a better singer than I was.)
It snowed on Friday (which is super early in the season for us) and then again on Sunday, though it didn't stick either time. Just suddenly cold; the previous weekend it had been almost 70 degrees. It hardly ever snows here, so had to keep going out to walk in it while I could. Now it's sunny and bright blue out.
Oh, yeah, and my computer finally died (for good, I think) on Saturday. I have a notebook, but can't recall how to get the keyboard to sync, so won't be writing as much. Will not be able to waste so much time on youtube or trying to win at Spider Solitaire (what I do when I'm stressed out and procrastinating.) Guess I can work on other projects, and deal with stuff instead of putting it off.
Time for new things. Say "yes."
(She ended up being cool about the stain. Told me to drop off the skirt, as they were sending other clothes over to the dry cleaners. Not everyone is a tyrant, after all. Even if I do live in fear of them. Even if I am blindsided, I have to act at some point, regardless. Deal with the aftermath in exchange for actually getting on with my life and taking a chance; the only other option is stagnation.)
Got concealer on the skirt (had a very clumsy morning on Saturday, dropping things left and right), and was supposed to return it today, but have finally managed to muster the courage to tell the shop about the stain, and ask what I should do about it. I'm leaning toward taking it to the cleaners, it's acetate, and while I did finally get the make-up out, it created another stain in the process. I haven't heard back, yet.
The concert was a kick! It was fun to be on that stage, even with half a house, I think the people there enjoyed it. We sat in the house for the first half, and it sounded great. The whole experience was fun, the rehearsal, the professionalism of the hall staff, the decent bathrooms and changing spaces, the staff calling the entrances, etc., so that all we had to worry about was following someone else's directions, and then going out there and performing. That was awesome. A friend of mine came, too, and that made me happy. (Joining this choir has opened up a lot of cool experiences: the Finland tour (and everything that was a part of that), singing at Folklife, and while this is the second time we've sung at Benaroya, it's the first time we've sung from the stage, and in general, we have a lot of public performances, which has made me braver. And made me a better singer than I was.)
It snowed on Friday (which is super early in the season for us) and then again on Sunday, though it didn't stick either time. Just suddenly cold; the previous weekend it had been almost 70 degrees. It hardly ever snows here, so had to keep going out to walk in it while I could. Now it's sunny and bright blue out.
Oh, yeah, and my computer finally died (for good, I think) on Saturday. I have a notebook, but can't recall how to get the keyboard to sync, so won't be writing as much. Will not be able to waste so much time on youtube or trying to win at Spider Solitaire (what I do when I'm stressed out and procrastinating.) Guess I can work on other projects, and deal with stuff instead of putting it off.
Time for new things. Say "yes."
(She ended up being cool about the stain. Told me to drop off the skirt, as they were sending other clothes over to the dry cleaners. Not everyone is a tyrant, after all. Even if I do live in fear of them. Even if I am blindsided, I have to act at some point, regardless. Deal with the aftermath in exchange for actually getting on with my life and taking a chance; the only other option is stagnation.)
Tuesday, October 31, 2017
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!
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!
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
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.
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, October 18, 2017
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
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.)
(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.)
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