The cats are curled on the carpet slightly tangential to one another. Phoebe has an evening sunbeam on her rear quarters. I am always slightly perturbed by their willingness to lie in the middle of the room as a major tripping hazard.  And I'm having a heck of a day today: hate working, resent the presence of almost everyone except Denise, and maybe Krista. The absence of my drug-of-choice (seemingly TH) is finding me reactive, tense and not raged filed so much as sad and tired of being sad and tired of feeling as though I come up empty-handed. Or just empty. I can't stand whining (mine or anyone else's) at the moment.

And this too will pass. I will cut the cord and regain my integrity and boundaries. Find some peace and perhaps find some love within that will illuminate possibilities without. Find joy that is happiness free of what happens. Find some peace for the kitkats as well, so reflect back my craziness of late. 

 

This is the most spring-blooming photo I have at hand for Easter. Which is today, Which is sorely lacking in chocolate eggs and bunny rabbits. 

Maybe there is a resurrection happening somewhere to stop and appreciate - I'm grateful for a less challenging day, for a relative calm and steadiness compared to Saturday. Left a message for mom and that helped (though she hasn't called back). And didn't go overboard responding to Rose's commentary on how the state mandate to allow different kinds of housing on SFR lots will destroy Newport. It won't, if only because the cost of lumber and construction is so high. 

Nor did I email TH or write another card (my earlier effort recycled - since I began writing it last week). I was (and am) sad at moments. Why? I miss the attention. I miss the sense of there still be someone I could love in the world (in that way, as we said in high school). I miss his email every day. I miss having something to look forward to. I miss the possibility of there being desire and pleasure and joy in my life at this late stage. And maybe even love.

If I want to be realistic (a few tears slide down my cheeks), I suppose these possibilities still exist and I'm not sure if I have any faith in their manifesting. A cold assessment of my charms comes up short: I don't cook or want to housekeep for anyone, I have little to no experience in sharing apace with someone for more than an afternoon, and I want it all NOW full-blown: I want to wake up next to someone I adore, get coffee and chat outside, then go to Powells or for a walk on Mt Tabor followed by brunch and I want it to be effortless. Someone who drives the speed limit without kvetching, and loves traveling, who has enough money to buy dinner or splurge on a surprise without breaking the bank or wanting compensation. Who appreciates me just the way I am. Who wants my happiness and is comfortable within their own skin. And my skin which has lost its robust resilience. No regrets and I am sad. 

And truth be told, I want TH. Him, specifically. Readers, it doesn't look likely. It looks like I spent all my nickels and there's no payoff. I wish I understood what happened - precisely what train of thought derailed on Thursday or Friday and I doubt I'll be privy to it. So what do I want this time to teach me: to love regardless? to not exaggerate my charms? to lay eyes on the goods before putting my heart on the cutting board (to wildly mix my metaphors)? What would I do differently - well there aren't a lot of places to meet people with the pandemic, no likely sweethearts on the bus. Maybe it really is time to move to Madison. To be continued (writing does help).

I haven't posted anything online in years and there's a sense of desperation and following instructions since talking with Cindy earlier this week. This morning one of the 'little books' I have piled on the coffee table instructed the reader to 'feel your feelings' which felt like useful advice. Flashback to childhood and my inability to control (see 'feel') my feelings led to endless teasing (is that the right word?) about 'there she goes again, she's going to cry'. 

Instead of intensely applying the suggestion, I kept it alongside me most of the morning as I did laundry, attempted to dust, and ended up clearing out drawers in the bedroom. I was astonished at how much needed to be handed off, how much clothing I had squirreled away, and how little I had to put back when I finished. 

The phone rang then as my cleaning efforts picked up momentum, and the message derailed my afternoon: mom had fallen, no apparent damage, and so I left her a message (assuming she was through with lunch). She called back to tell me I was to call her doctor to arrange for her transfer to the 2nd floor. I felt intensely angry and furious: this is not my job, there is not an emergency and why does she believe she needs to be on the 2nd floor. 

An hour later, it turns out that every fall has concluded with a trip to the ED and placement on the 2nd floor (see almost a year ago exactly). So it made memory sense to mom. Fortunately, she didn't appear to be in need of intense assistance (despite her statement "I'm going to need a lot of help"). I explained that she could insist on having Christina or Cindy paged, or she could go to the ED if she felt unsell. I didn't feel great about my attitude or tone, and I knew she heard it. She is old and weak and tired. Does she deserve something better? Or different? I'll let her and Rose decide. 

Instead, I came home and cried. I cried because I couldn't make her more capable and less lonely, because I find it very hard to offer her the empathy and attention she wants as she's never offered it to me. And yes, I am still angry and sad 60 years later - and it was okay to just have those feelings. Not to cope or manage or cover them up. To feel frustrated, deeply sad and 'not responsible'. 

And I cried for the woman I am who once again, feels unceremoniously dumped by TH who simply stopped emailing me after Wednesday. Almost 70 days of steadfast communication and then the door slams shut - perhaps of its own accord. No response to Thursday's emails, and nothing since. I cycle through being angry, hurt, unsurprised, concerned and then back to WTF? Perhaps it's telling that his email on Wednesday was my favorite and filled me with delight. So it goes. Of course, I consider writing, or emailing (and for a moment, a voice message) and then let it go. It's not my fault or the result (as much as I'd like to tell myself) of something I said or didn't say. He's done this before - perhaps less abruptly by text - and if I allow or pursue it, I suppose we could do round 9 or 10. 

And I hoped (insanely) for a different outcome (definition of crazy?). One where we meet up or I see him in Kentucky. Or I move there, or (a new form of craziness) we get married (why on earth?). I miss having someone who shares my interests and delights keep me company. I miss desire and hope and friendship and wonder if I will ever have this. And I release you, TH. And open my heart to other possibilities. 

+

overcome

writing because i am overcome, reading roxane gay's "an untamed state". sometimes i'm compelled to read something that is wrenching and overwhelming and all the more necessary. and doing so, sometimes i need to stop and go outside and feel cool air across my face before i can continue. it's all those words (brilliant, powerful, amazing). it also freaks me out; i remember once, being all of 13, being thrown down by half a dozen boys on an empty football field one friday night and somehow being able to walk away. do i believe in magic? in guardian angels? you bet your ass i do.

the soundtrack tonight is sharon van etten's new "are we there" which is also dark in places. and yet. 

these flowers outside remind me that with darkness comes light, with pain 
(if we're determined, blessed, relentless) 
comes healing. and beauty. it is always there, if beyond reach at times.



"distance has a way of making love more understandable" - 
sharon van etten.

in transit

i love riding the bus. and I love the color ofthis woman's shirt and the contrast of her head scarf. this seems a far better use of my phone than simply staring intently into the little box and missing the blue skies and one another. 

there was a great post by danielle la porte yesterday that made me sit up and then go for a walk. walking is my default for emotional agitation. what made it so very helpful is that she offered a new perspective for a one of my most persistent ETH (emotional tripping hazards) (you know, where you can't stop perserverating over a person [usually] or circumstance where the only thing you have control over is yourself, and it's not working). her essay allowed me to consider the possibiltiy that perhaps... just perhaps, i have missing the boat on someone elses experience. shake up my world, why don't you? 

more on that to follow.

first aid kit

i'm streaming their latest. it's a good place to start:

But there is only forward, no other way / Tomorrow was your whole bad at the end of the day / And gold turns gray / And gold turns gray / What if a heart gives in despair? / What if the road won't take me there? / Oh, I wish, for once, we could stay gold

the sun is leaving and this evening is winding down. the dappled light that filled this room twenty minutes ago is gone. still, spring is shifting into summer and moving forward. still, everything changes, just as last week's full moon is waning in the sky.

why start this again? because i need a place to write, and journals have their limits. i started one over six months ago, and it's a wonder and a blessing to see that i have continued. still, i crave a place to write stream-of-consciousness, or finger-flowing. 

this morning i went for a walk, and as i strode out of the building, i felt anger. it crackled in my mind, i could feel it in my steps and i wondered at it's sudden appearance. walking with it, heading up 4th avenue and over to jackson, up to the MAX turnabout and as i stopped to take a picture, i realized i was not angry. i felt broken-hearted. my defended heart dropped its shields and i breathed. sad. loss. not fury. deeper breath. softening. 


this is how it happens, when i'm willing to name, wait, watch for some hint, movement, revelation.

and with the sadness, i felt grateful. for having something to lose. for the space it left allowing something new to enter. can i, will i, leave the space open?