Poem of the day.

Sonnet 43

I search for your trace in the faces of others,
in this rough, winding river of women,
in their braids and barely submerged eyes,
in their soft sliding steps skating out on the foam.

Sometimes, I find I can make out your nails:
fugitive, oval, children of cherry-trees.
Sometimes it’s your hair I catch flowing by,
burning into water your portrait of fire.

I searched, but no one else had your heartbeat.
No one else had your light, or your dark forest clay.
No one else had such delicate ears.

You are whole, exact, you are one apart from many.
And so I’ll go with you, traveling and loving,
a wide Mississippi into a feminine sea.

 

Pablo Neruda (Translated by Paul Weinfield, 2013)

No dog love :(

1994 Bergschrund Honey Bear Mug

I'm drinking coffee at this very moment. It took over an hour to make it happen. I am housesitting, and there's a dog, and the dog is depressed, and that makes me feel depressed, and wishing that I was a dog psychologist and I could whisk his worries away. I also wish that I too could get into a small contained space like he is right now, in a dark hallway in his crate, voluntarily.

I have to keep myself from bugging him to come play with me. I tried to cuddle with him, but he went into his crate, so here I am, feeling rejected and not wanting to do anything, and just generally feeling like ass. I get so used to dogs loving me and wanting to constantly be with me, that I get confused when a dog meets me and doesn't automatically want to be bffs.

I did some thrifting yesterday, and maybe found some good stuff. I got into a long conversation with an employee/thrift friend about him working on getting his GED. He has a neck tattoo but I like him anyway. I think this is a first for me. I am pretty anti-tattoo, as a general rule. There were a bunch of new workers at the store. They were pretty energetic, and obviously hadn't seen a woman in a great while. I love it when that happens. Aw shucks [insert blushing grin here].

Hug a veteran :)

A Charles Schultz ode to veterans on Armistice Day (11/11)

There was a purple station wagon in the parking lot when I pulled up to one of my favorite thrift stores this afternoon. It was dotted with silver-toned ephemera, lots of crosses. I got to meet the owner at the cash register, and I'm really glad I did. Turns out he was a POW in Vietnam, and the purple on the car matched the purple heart license plate. He was also covered in silver-toned ephemera, with a Western-style outfit and pristine cowboy boots. He said that he never sleeps, so he makes jewelry and decorates his car. It's his thing. I assume it keeps him alive.

This article reports that one US veteran suicides approximately every hour (average of 22 a day, higher than previous calculations). 'Purple Car Man' reminded me of how important it is for people to have something that they find joy in, that keeps them busy, helps them to find meaning, etc. Of course it's never that simple, but it's a big thing. It keeps blood flowing in important areas of the brain, encourages human contact, maybe even increases the input of sunshine.

I can imagine that when people come home from war, minor hobby-ish things seem incidental, perhaps even silly and a waste of time. But unfortunately, this way of thinking keeps the trauma of war close at all times, increasing paranoia, and disconnectedness.

Thought of the day: Hug a veteran :)

All is not lost, my dear

Oh man, I've been feeling down for a few days. I don't want to call myself a "downer" however, for fear this name-calling would only plunge me back into ceiling-staring-land (or as it was last night, star-staring-land). And I don't want to be hard on myself, since the temperature plunged overnight, the holidays are fast approaching (oh dear lord), and the director of the CIA is embroiled in scandal. Then there's Hurricane Sandy, legalization of being a pothead in Colorado, and the neverending depression of Obamacare. Need I say more? How can a simple girl like me go on living in all of this chaos?

But then, a dimly flickering light in the darkness: lunch at the Armenian place across the street, filled with fresh pita, tzatziki, and the most wonderful falafel I've had in a long time. Suddenly, the world was right again, my blood sugar normalized, and my days-long freak-out ended.

Peace out mofos :)

Breathe in...breathe out...

All 26 poses in the Bikram series :)

Oh man. I've really been struggling the past couple days. I've become overwhelmed by the amount of pain and suffering in the world, the constant horror stories I'm privy to. I know I can't save anyone. I know it's not my job to fix anyone else's problems. But it weighs on my soul in a way that feels like I can't breathe, and it almost feels better not to breathe, but then I get really really tired and I want to lie down and die.

This feeling makes sense to me because of Bikram. I've noticed that it often feels better in some poses to stop breathing, because breathing necessitates moving, and makes me more likely to fall down. But one has to breathe in order to get through the whole series. You might be able to get through a pose or two without breathing, but then you're too wiped out, and have to sit down. I get dizzy when I stop breathing. So I have to consciously breathe, six counts in, six counts out. Sometimes it hurts to breathe. I don't know why. But you have to breathe.

So breathing feels like dying, but won't actually kill you, and not breathing feels better, but might kill you. Quite the paradox, no? Somehow there is a psychological profundity in there, but I can't find it. Whatever it is, it isn't a pleasant thought.

Image retrieved at: http://theguiltlesslife.files.wordpress.com/2012/03/bikram.jpg

Perhaps all is not lost.

Vintage, handwoven, Scotland, mohair, hot pink!

...And one more thing: Don't think that the great love which was once granted to you, when you were a boy, has been lost; how can you know whether vast and generous wishes didn't ripen in you at that time, and purposes by which you are still living today? I believe that that love remains so strong and intense in your memory because it was your first deep aloneness and the first inner work that you did on your life...

Rainer Maria Rilke (Letters to a Young Poet - #7)

Summer house-sitting

Vintage Italian Race Car tie

I am often asked to house-sit, since I'm single and people assume that I will jump at the chance to live in a real house (or maybe they just know I love dogs and central air, and know that I won't have to get a housesitter for my own house, seeing as how I live in a garage and carry all of my valuables with me when I leave).

It's pretty difficult for me to leave my bed for more than an afternoon (it's really an all-purpose piece of furniture: desk, chair, kitchen table, sleeping mechanism). So my experience this summer of housesitting has been a really positive one. I was able to pack up my stuff and drive away, and I was super proud of myself for just doing it, without planning to go home every day to check on my store, but just putting it on vacation, and saying, "I'll mail it Tuesday". I'm proud of myself for getting out of bed, for weeding the garden and playing with the dogs, for taking the opportunity to walk down to the river and stumble upon a pack of super-tan cyclists on some sort of long-distance jaunt with bike trailers. And I'm proud of myself for being the kind of person that people trust to leave their dogs, cat, and schools of fish to care for.

And finally, I'm proud of myself for figuring out how to use the coffee maker, because that kind of failure would have been tragic.

Olympic Swimming :)

French Lead Crystal Goblets - Pompadour Pattern

I am having so much trouble watching the Olympics. It makes me really sad. I had to have a talk with myself this afternoon to get over the disappointment. I had to figure out why I was sad.

When I was a kid, let's see, over the past almost 30 years, I have seen many Olympic games. It was always a beloved thing in my family, and every four years, we sat together and enjoyed the solidarity and beauty of the games. As an adolescent, my swim coach brought a television to the pool and we'd watch in between sets. National-level swimming got me through high school, in a way. The idea of somehow rising to that level kept me motivated to train for years on end. The Olympics were like some far-off dream of all that swimming was meant to be. They inspired me to think big, even when those who believed in me most told me I'd never measure up.

And I didn't. I was a mediocre swimmer at best. I was the hardest worker in the pool, and certainly formidable as a high school swimmer in a small country pond, but as a year-round club swimmer, I was always in the middle of the pack, usually on the slower end. The Olympics make me sad because they represent the idea that we each have greatness inside of us, that we each have the capacity to be "The Best" at some thing. But now that I'm an adult, and my competitive swimming days are done (and I'm glad about that), I don't know how I'm gonna find greatness in my life. I don't know how I'm going to prove to myself that I'm good enough. I thought those letters after my name would help, but they really don't.

I imagine that at the end of the day, gold medals aren't that awesome anyway for those who win them. I imagine that they feel amazing for a while, as well they should, but then life goes quickly back to normal, and the winner still has to face their own humanity. That's how life seems to work out for me anyway.

There was a time, a moment in time, that I was crazy fast (crazy stupid fast). And when that moment passed, I was done swimming. I proved to myself that I had it in me, and then I was done. I got out of that pool, and never looked back. So when I have moments like this, like I'm having right now, wishing my life had turned out differently, I remember that moment, and it's all worth it.

Happy Saturday :)

This bird's nest fell out of a tree in my front yard :)

This has been a tough week, but the past several have been tough, so that really doesn't mean all that much. I hate the depression of summer, but it keeps me from going over the edge and collapsing the rest of the time, so it's worth the difficult days, usually. Mostly I just sit in my apartment with my mini fan pointed directly at me, doing eBay schtuff and listening to talk radio. Television makes me feel a lot more guilty, so I try to take it in small amounts (I don't know where I got the idea that summer television was shameful - probably my mother). Also, I drink a lot of smoothies, which makes me feel like a rock star. They're full of spinach and berries. I figure my iron and antioxidant load is now back where it should be.

Tonight, I am going out with friends to see Magic Mike (I later read this, and had some brain waves to the contrary). I am telling you so that you know that I have no shame (I think). Oh man, at the end of Dear John, when Channing Tatum and Amanda Seyfried's characters end up together after her sufficiently hot first husband dies tragically, gives me hope that love can truly conquer all. I'm not kidding.

Geysers are big.

Yellowstone postcards from 1931

Oh wow. I've gone off the deep end. I've lost track of the words that are coming out of my mouth, and my mouth has taken on a life of its own where it operates without the presence or direction of my brain. Bad times, my friends. I am in trouble.

Bipolar disorder runs in my family, and I have only ever run on the severely depressed side of the mood spectrum. I've been having a lot of different weirdness going on in my body, and I'm not feeling like all is well, or as it should be. Tomorrow is a holiday, and I work all day on Tuesday, but I'm calling my psychiatrist as soon as I can. Whatever is happening is abnormal and not at all okay. Maybe it's nothing; maybe it's just a ton of anxiety, but I am not going to let it continue.

That being said, if you have any kind of mental health issues/diseases/conditions, please know that there are always people willing to hear you. Whether it's a suicide hotline, or a teen crisis line, or a domestic violence hotline, people want to help you. Sometimes all we need to do is reach out from the frenzied clutter of our brains and tell other people that we need help, and we gain a new chance at freedom. So I'm gonna do that, before things get worse, while I still have a chance of turning this train around.

Hope for better.

Vintage Christian Dior Eyeglasses - yeah buddy :)

There's a Lori McKenna song that I listened to on repeat last fall. I couldn't get enough of it. It made me feel like someone was speaking from my heart; someone understood how it felt to always be the most honest and vulnerable person in the room.

It seemed like I'd always been in a relationship with someone who cared enough to sleep with me, but not enough to be seen with me. And over and over I felt alone in my feelings, judged by my friends for staying with men who treated me badly, and judged by the significant (?) other for always being too much.

I suppose those experiences taught me to be less expectant, less dependent upon other people for supporting my emotional well-bring. And that's a good thing, no matter what. Today, I'm pretty glad I had a tough time after my first big heartbreak. It's been thirteen years, and I've learned so much about life and love and other people. It's difficult to be bitter when so much good has come out of so much pain. But I'd never tell that seventeen-year-old that her heartache was a good thing. I'd tell her that it was going to hurt more than she ever expected, but that many many years later, things would get better.

Post flea market meltdown

I feel so bad right now. The flea market was so much work, and not worth the time and energy in the end, which makes me feel like I can't keep doing this reselling thing. I'm fooling myself to believe that I can continue to support myself this way. I couldn't pay my rent this month. I had to ask for help, and now I feel like this thing that I love so much has quickly become the thorn in my side.

I feel like my needs are exponentially greater than I can possibly meet. I need a job with health insurance, but I don't qualify for jobs that offer it. I'm stuck with a masters degree and now I'm almost thirty and my body is falling apart, and I need health care more than ever, and I'm less able to get it every day. I have less than three months to solve this problem, and now it feels like the sky is falling.

I need to eat, but my body doesn't want to eat because it's hot and I feel sick, but my mood is directly related to my food intake.

That's all for now.

Actual Postscript: Um, I just looked over my posts over the last week and it appears that I am having a total breakdown. I'm not. I'm functional, but graduation has taken the wind out of my sails. This too shall pass, I assume, as it always does.

Coping with inventory

Being done with school is so strange, I just wander around thrift stores aimlessly. I pick up some cool vintage hubcaps, or a set of Czechoslovakian glassware, but then my hands get dirty, or I imagine the glasses breaking, and I leave without getting anything of value.

I look through shoes with a hint of melancholy. I look at books hoping the guy who works here will talk to me already, but he doesn't even look my way. I look through dresses hoping I'll find a fun one for a friend, but sigh and my vision gets blurry.

Life is funky right now, but I'm getting through it. I went through my matches tonight on eHarmony and answered the questions people sent me. It felt productive. Tomorrow, I'm paying someone to come over and work for me for a few hours. The piles in my living room/kitchen have got to be dealt with, and I can't do it alone. I'm going to have her go through patterns to make sure they're complete, take photos of them, then seal them in clear pattern-sized sleeves. If she enjoys that, then I'll move on to something else. I have a load of stuff to work through, and it's worth it to me to pay for the help. I'm snowed under by inventory with no place to go.

Funkdigity

Knitting? Gardening? Staring out the window?

Should I be doing something else? Should I be watching less television? Should I be walking on the grass and staring at the sky more? I'm in that weird place where my life is changing and I don't quite know what to do while it's happening. I've been talking about it for the past nine months or so, but now my graduation is a week away (nine days to be exact). I'm in a funky funk, and I'm just going to have to ride it out.

I'm pretty much a professional now. I'm a professional who sells trash on the internet (when I'm trying to convince someone how lame I am, I create really pithy sayings like that). I'm actually pretty awesome, but I don't know if it's okay to really live in that feeling. I might become obese or sociopathic if I care about myself too much (or too little for that matter). I guess I have a core fear that I have to maintain some kind of emotional balance that errs on the side of depression. That way, karma will repay me in my next life by blessing me with many virgins (seriously, why are virgins so valuable in the afterlife?) or cows.

I created an outfit for graduation day. I bought a dress yesterday, and took it to be altered today. I still need to have my earrings fixed. Everything fell apart at the beginning of the school year, and I've just kinda limped along ever since. Now I'm on the other side, and everything needs repair. Including me, probably.

One fatal flaw

Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.

Maya Angelou

I am obsessed with keeping my computer clean and orderly. And in the past two weeks, this has come back to bite me in the ass, and not in an ass-scarring kind of way, but an ass-maiming kind of way. I lost an editing job I spent a day working on. Tonight, I lost a page of notes from meetings that cannot be recovered. I just spent the last half-hour going through the recycling bin and putting together the puzzle pieces of the printed copy I'd torn up (the details really don't matter).

I can't keep living this way. I can't keep obsessing about "computer baggage". I need to start holding on to things, not because they're important, but because it puts me in the mindset to hold onto things so that when something actually important comes around, I don't act like a dipshit and throw it away.

Dear self - In an attempt to protect yourself, you've created a world where you leave no trace, where you quietly enter and exit rooms so that no one notices you. And for a time, that was a good skill. It kept you safe, and you did a really good job staying safe in very dangerous and ugly situations. But now, life is different, and you don't need to cover your tracks anymore. You can leave footprints. You can be visible. It's going to take some time, but this is a first step. Buying a jump-drive is probably sufficient, but you might need to purchase an external hard drive. I'm sorry that this lesson has been so painful and stressful. Life lessons often are. But don't beat yourself up over it. You did the best you could. Now, you know better, and you're gonna do better. Much love. - M

25 hour work-week?

I had a thought this week, now that I'm considering my future post-graduation. I've been supporting myself in unique ways over the past several years, and I may soon have the opportunity to put that aside in the interest of something more stable, higher-paying, and let's face it, more demanding. And I'm thinking that I don't want to, not because I'm lazy (I work constantly as it is), but because I don't want to contribute to a society that claims that work is life.

When I consider my life, and the lives of others, I see that the strain work places on us as human beings causes us to treat ourselves with less care, in the interest of our jobs. We give our jobs all we have, whether we realize it or not. Then all that is left at the end of the day is the dregs. How is that life? Let's face it-who among us, with a full-time job, really spends every minute working? The answer is not zero. I understand that there are plenty of people who work hard, and then others for a number of reasons are limited by their own abilities and work harder than most. I grant you that.

What if you only had to be productive half the time? Or even less? What if everyone were salaried, and could leave when their work was done? What if we began to look at eachother more as human beings and less as mindless, all-powerful, drones? What if we were all honest about our needs? What if we were vulnerable, and committed to change?

Utopia is a dream, but being fully human is something worth striving for.

Ack! Lent is coming!

I haven't given anything up for Lent in years. My life is already about deprivation. Not a day goes by that I don't willingly live without something I want. The only reason I'm considering going to weekly Lenten prayers at my church is because everyone goes out for bagels afterwards. I'm tired of living through Lent, listening to people detail their wonderful deprivation skills, their ability to go without. Am I being judgmental? Definitely.

I am often judgmental. As long as this depraved habit doesn't affect my life in too negative a way, I usually just forgive myself and move on. Except then I miss out on what Lent offers for me (ah, perhaps individualism could benefit me in some way in this instance). Maybe Lent offers me a reason to spend less time on the computer. Maybe Lent offers me outside time for gardening, or more yoga and less ice cream, or vice versa. I don't know.

A while back there was a significant other in my life, in that he was significant because he'd seen me naked, and an other, because he wasn't a lady from my gym locker room. He was always looking to be more spiritual. He tried and tried to be monk-like without actually being celibate. We listened to monks-chanting-psalms on tape in the car. We lit candles and read the bible. When he was upset, I read to him from my favorite book of sermons.

This all felt like an act, like a play with meaningful lines, but with actors playing parts, not real people living their real lives. It all felt false, and I felt empty. On the surface, for me, it looked like I was making good decisions-I'd chosen a good Christian man, hadn't I? But being in this relationship made it feel like someone stuck a maple tap into my heart, and blood just dripped out day by day. I needed an infusion, and I was lost.

Sometimes spirituality is empty because it's only on the surface. We can't make something happen in our souls. We can try, but there has to be a response from the other side. Even Mother Theresa felt like God didn't speak to her. Being "spiritual" doesn't always mean what we think it means.

Maybe take some time this Lenten season for your spirit, in whatever way feeds your soul. I will continue to contemplate the ritual, as I do every year.

Ah, melancholy...

During the past couple days, I got a lot of writing done. From my current estimation, I have about nineteen pages. There are whole sections which have not yet been addressed, so I'm not close to done. I am, however, starting to have a melancholy feeling about the end of an era. This is no-man's land. I have never been anywhere that looks remotely like this place, and I want to run far, far away.

So now, I'm going to eat a piece of cake.

"Natural" remedies

In honor of being sick, I give you a list of herbal remedies I use obsessively:

1. Crushed garlic (severe cold/flu)
2. Warm Garlic/Olive Oil blend (ear infection)
3. Goldenseal/Echinacea (moderate cold/flu)
4. Vitamin C (mild cold/flu)
5. Cranberry capsules (urinary anything)

When I was trying to cure myself of diabetes, and wasn't taking any meds, I used:

1. Cinnamon
2. Prickly Pear Cactus
3. Chromium
4. Taurine

On a normal day, I take the following (vegan overload):

1. Vitamin B Complex
2. Prenatal Multivitamin (for the extra iron)

Shame in me

Shame is an awful thing. I can feel it in my chest. It's like a fist grabs my heart, and then wrenches it to the right. Ouch.

I am feeling shame at this very moment, and I am trying to talk myself through it. I feel the shame of a little kid who is tattling, something I don't directly remember doing, but imagine I did quite often. Doing the right thing is very important to me. And when I see it out there, possible, I want to grab it and make it mine. I want to own the essence of being right. I want to own it and let it define me. I want to be right. I want to be right. I want to be right. Ad infinitum...

Being right makes us feel safe. It makes us feel in control. When that is questioned, when we make small mistakes, we are struck with the uninvited wrenching fist in the chest.

I have to talk to myself often, remind myself that I am fallible, remind myself that I cannot know the right and perfect way to do everything. All I have is myself, and whatever faculties are available in that particular moment.

In all reality, I am human and flawed, and I never do the right thing. But so are you, so at least we're all in this thing together.