Always the hope

Well, that wasn't in the forecast.  Flashing lights and rumbling high in the sky, a lot of show, but when I walk out after it has passed, my shoes don't even get wet from the grass.  So, hit and miss, mostly miss here, on the rain.  (And this was a red blob on the radar...moved through very quickly.)  Yesterday went rather late in the evening to water and weed.  The garden grew dark quickly and I got pretty sketched out and almost ran out without putting the hose back.  Will need to go back and pick up the weeds (and the tomatoes are ripe.)

Just saw a notice for the show.  Really need to write this thing.  I have a beginning and an end, am trying not to be all melodramatic or cliche in the middle.  Having a hard time with it, because I'm not writing it from any personal experience, though perhaps I should.

Oh, the irony!

I'll eat my words regarding "Thelma & Louise," at least in part.  I found my beginning, and my voice for the thing I'm trying to write.

...and winding my way down many an unproductive road.  I should probably get some space to work for a couple of hours, soon.  It helps.

Ugh

All I can say is, "Writer's block."  Or at least the sense that I have nothing to say, or that I already said it all in the piece I wrote, and that's all I've got.  I don't know what to say.  I've got a month to come up with it, and have it memorized and blocked.  Sigh.  I can do this...I think.  Hmm.  I put myself in this position because I wanted to.  And I do.

Not sure what I want to say

Oh god, it's almost 9 pm; I write to take a break from writing...deadlines and such.  A walk out the door, a whole new universe awakens.  Holes in the sky.  Impromptu band playing Holst by the lakeside.  Sharing a poem (my point of departure) with a stranger in a coffee shop leads to the idea of an intuitive choice to be good when present, so often drowned out by the static we find ourselves swimming in.  A million justifications for wrong action.  Truth in unexpected places.  Grateful for the depth of it all.  I still don't have ten minutes.  Untangling fishing wire, like thoughts, from of a tree, then touching my hand ever so lightly on a branch large enough to bear my weight, feeling the seemingly solid mass move in the breeze, like dancing, like breath.  The sun drops down, the golden hour.  Now in my room listening to the whole of "The Planets."  The air cooled quickly from the heat of the day.  Clouds formed like fairy wings out of nothingness, suddenly filling the sky where none were before.  I wish it would rain.

Birches, August 9/L Herlevi 2015

For dramatic effect, August 9/L Herlevi 2015

Pictures

Still trying to come up with ideas, stuck in a place of doubt, which keeps me from writing daily...which of course would help.  Met some friends at the Sculpture Park last night after work.  Previous night went to see this improv/music/spoken word even with the "Pianos in the Park."  People were encouraged to take the mic, musicians played under and with, poems turned into songs pretty much on the spot.  A few drops of rain finally began to fall after holding off all day (and the weather reports made it look like the chance was over by then.)  Then a few minutes later, deluge, and since I had a camera and wasn't wearing a waterproof jacket, I made my way home.  Drenched and shivering, but not complaining: we need the rain; the trail mostly deserted, people sheltering under the trees.  Only lasted 10-15 minutes (and apparently, did not make it as far as my garden, very dry when I eventually made it over to water.)  First picture is the sky after the rain stopped.  Next three are from the Sculpture Park.

After the Rain, August 5/L Herlevi 2015

Boats, August 6/L Herlevi 2015

Outward, August 6/L Herlevi 2015

"Echo", August 6/L Herlevi 2015

Sunday

Emptied out the contents of my closet (the clothing part, anyway) onto my bed an hour before I had to leave the house.  The clothes I was definitely keeping were (rather neatly) hung back in the closet; the pile I was parting with were dropped off in a bin on my way to the bus stop; and I came home to the uncommitted still strewn across my bed...they are back in the closet for the time being, I would like to get some sleep.

Went and saw "Emboldened" again this afternoon, I was working front-of-house.  Stayed for a workshop after, wasn't sure what to expect, but there was food.  It ended up being writing, and acting exercises built around themes we threw out that we picked out from the play.  At one point we wrote about what music was inside us (writing prompts related to that), and most people wrote about music when they know they are on their right path, I wrote about the crashing cymbals, and by the end, came to the conclusion that when I hear those, it's because I'm not being true to myself; so, kinda' the opposite of many people, but useful to know.

As far as the show itself goes, it was good last week, but they killed it tonight.  If not my favorite show, it's certainly one of the top of the year so far, and giving "Live from the Last Night of My Life" a run for the money.  So good.  Plays one more show tomorrow night at Theatre Off Jackson.

Saw an overwhelming amount of art on Friday night ("Out of Sight" at King Street Station, an Artist Trust exhibit of the people who had won grants (I think), and while making my way to a bus stop, feet aching for some reason, I saw a sign for another show, so went and checked that out as well.)  Saturday, I mostly did nothing.

Inspired to think outside of the box, the whole joy of experiencing art for me.  There is more possibility than we imagine.

Friday

Okay, now three writing projects I want to work on, and I misplaced the book with the monologue in it.  I think it's in the house; I really need to get through this purging thing, everything is in more disarray than it was before, mid-process.  The tendon thing is unpleasant, but I think better when I write long-hand.

Did someone say today would be chaotic?  Today is chaotic.

Learning to write again

The tendons in my right hand have taken to popping, when writing, when typing.  (Yes, that, and the lingering IT Band thing, still, which makes it irritating to walk, a popping sensation at my hip.)  Attempting, in earnest, to learn to write with my left hand.  Irritatingly slow, and it looks like a four year old's writing, though in cursive.  I'm trying to tell myself that the slowness can add to reflection, though my thoughts move faster than my hand can.  I have been amusing myself by writing in reverse, since if you write right-to-left you can actually see what you wrote.  Not practical, I suppose...I haven't held it up to a mirror yet to see if I can read it.  At any rate, now's as good a time to switch to writing with my left hand as any.  (Also, need to find a left-handed can opener.  I can use a right-handed one, but have a bit of concern about slicing my hand open on the lid.)  Doors, too, generally set up for right-handedness, and I recognize why, the usefulness of that, but I also recognize that I have trouble opening them.  I've been aware of that for awhile, but have been thinking about "bias" a lot lately, and it's true that until you are on the other side of the dominant bias, you don't see the problem.  And the one I'm noticing is an inconvenience for me, it doesn't hold me back from participating or threaten my life.  But just because we do not have experience with a bias, discrimination, etc, doesn't mean it doesn't exist.  I try to stay open, have empathy for someone else's experience being different from my own, in general, but it's still a good reminder for me.

Oh, I should audition.  Three things have come up, I'll just have to have someone take a picture...and find a new, short, monologue.  Can't do the one I've got.  I need to stop coming up with excuses, and it's good practice.  (And I'm working on the cold reading.)

Naval gazing

Spent the majority of my Saturday gazing at my naval, and going through my CD collection to see what I wanted to part with.  Started on the books as well; now it's just a matter of figuring what to do with them all.  Dealing with all the emotions related to health issues.  Coming to terms with the surgical thing, researching it.  (And on a side note, message boards are filled with horror stories.  I did already know this, and it's good to know worse-case scenarios, but I don't suppose it's the standard experience.  On any review site, or message board, you get the stellar experiences and the horrendous.  Middle-of-the-road experiences don't tend to garner comment, and I imagine those are in the majority.  I remember reading reviews in search of a dentist and all of them had glowing and horror stories.  In the end, I found a toothbrush with a name on it and called it.  Worked out fine.)  I still don't know what the urgency is, I haven't been told the risks on either side; it hadn't seemed like I had the choice to not choose, but I need to emotionally get to the conclusion myself.  Oddly enough, the idea of removing emotional scars surgically, helps, whether or not that is actually what happens.  The idea of it helps with resolution.  And besides that, I do want to live.  (And because there's been no communication yet, I've gone to the worse-case scenario in my head.  My risk is probably rather low.)

Bought some salmon at the farmer's market on Saturday, didn't get around to cooking it.  Sunday morning, while reading email, I heard an explosion, thinking it might be a gunshot or left-over fire cracker, I listened for sirens, but there were none.  Forgetting about that, and trying to find something in the closet, I switched on the overhead light, it fizzled like a disturbed ember; my only thought was that I would need to get new light bulbs and figure out how to reach it (ceilings are high.)  Shortly after the house seemed quiet, and I realized the explosion was a transformer, and that the power was out.  I walked to the store to go buy fruit I'd promised to get; most of the neighborhood had power; someone texted the landlord.  I left for a while.  When I came back four hours later, it was still out, but there was a utility truck down the street.  It came back on sometime after 1 pm.  I had been wondering where I could go to cook the salmon, if the restaurant up the street would do it, if I should fire up the grill (something I don't think I've actually done before), etc.  Turned out okay, had not gone bad, but you know, a reminder to cook or freeze, in the future.

Ran out to go catch a new play, and reception for local jazz scene luminaries.  Felt lucky to be that room.  Ran into my former landlords, from years ago.  They feel like relations to me, and I enjoyed the opportunity to spend some time with them again.  Also, talked to the film maker whose film I was an extra on last winter, found out they are doing a screening in the near future.  Looking forward to seeing it.  (I reconnected with a bunch of people I'd lost touch with, yesterday.) The play itself was "Emboldened, the Rise and Fall of King Bolden the First," by Reginald Andre Jackson, dir. by Robin Lynne Smith, and music by D'Vonne Lewis.  It took me awhile to entirely follow what was going on, but I always enjoy seeing Reginald Andre Jackson and Tracy Hughes perform.  It's an engaging story about "Buddy" Bolden who was a jazz musician in New Orleans at the turn-of-the century.  He introduced a new style of playing (coronet), which changed the course of jazz, but there is no record, no recordings of his music.  The play follows him from his late teens when he picked up the coronet to his early 20's when he had a mental breakdown, was institutionalized, and fell into obscurity.  There is a parallel story of his third child, a daughter that never knew him, searching for a possible cylinder recording of his music.  Good acting (especially the three women in the cast), and great playing by the musicians.  Walked out of the theatre and went to a candlelight vigil for a local community hero, who was gunned down last Thursday, a life snuffed out too soon.  Too many deaths.  Too many answers to disagreements with escalating violence (227 shootings in Seattle this year, according to the Seattle Times.)  Too much loss.  Gaping holes not easily refilled.

Also, came to the realization that an obstacle I'd been grappling with for a while, not knowing how to proceed and feeling stuck, for a long time, was indeed a "do not enter" sign.  I accept that.  It is liberating to finally let go.  With everything lately, my emotions are swinging in a wide arc, which is better than not feeling them.  And yesterday, I fell in love with everyone; with possibility.

And we finally had rain, rain that soaked into the ground, for three days.  The sun is out now, and the heat will return.  But there was a giddiness in the air on Friday, an electricity.  A change.  Context is everything.

De-cluttering

I've found that I've been alternating between agreeing and resisting Marie Kondo's advice, and so I've let it sink in, and reread it to see where my resistance is coming from.  It's not that one person is going to have the solution for everyone, so there's that, and yet, the idea of only having what brings you joy (and picking up every item and asking that question) in your living space, which should be a sanctuary, and treating what you have with respect, makes sense.  (For the record, my biggest resistance was in regard to books, her suggestions felt cavalier to me.)  Why would I want to be surrounded by objects that didn't give me joy, or worse caused stress?  Or maybe even worse, be surrounded by things I hadn't even given much thought to, built up from sheer passivity?

Later in the book she talks about when you feel resistance to letting go (for things that don't spark joy) to ask if "this is an attachment to the past or a fear of the future?" That seems useful in general.  Perhaps it's necessary to clear out the clutter (mental and physical) of what you don't want first to find what you do.  That passivity is easy enough to slide into, how much more so when you can't even see what matters to you, because it's buried under everything else?  She says it changes lives, and I can imagine it would, because it would bring clarity.  But still....I need to start in earnest.  I've only gone through my dresser, so far.

And oddly enough, all the books I've picked up lately seem to relate, unintentionally.  It is eye-opening to realize how much of my life is still in the "should" category:  So much obligation or expectation, not enough joy or love.