More than Halfway

Can you believe it is already August!? Or, depending on how you're coping with some measure of isolation, quarantine, pandemic situations, it is "just" August!?  

In either case we're more than half-way through 2020.

Outside of Covid news, there is the election.  I feel like that should be typed in all caps, bold, underlined, and highlighted; THE ELECTION! 

I'm getting the sense that folks are trying to hold on, trying to stay a course, counting on THE ELECTION  to be the catalyst that changes the course of where we are and where we may be headed, which is nowhere good. 

Simply put, we're in deep doo-doo and it's getting deeper.  

I can't talk about it much because every time I do. . . rage.  

In other news...well, there isn't any other news, really.  I'm a year older, my son is exploring musical expression, my daughter is frustrated with work and her car. In the meantime we are masking, distancing, keeping our respective worlds small, and adapting.

Illinois has 195,00 confirmed Covid-19 cases.  Over two thousand new cases were reported yesterday.  There have been 7,846 deaths as of the tally reported yesterday. 

I heard a song a couple of weeks ago, a new release by newly named, "The Chicks" titled, "Set Me Free" and is a haunting love-gone-wrong, nasty dissolution anthem. But I heard it as a battle cry to be released from the horror of  45.

Decency would be for you to sign and release me. If you ever loved me, then will you do this one last thing? Set me free, set me free. 

    

have you ever

at the zoo 

Have you ever been streaming music when something unfamiliar yet striking comes on? So struck by this tune, you jot down the title with expectations of queuing it up some time later, to give it a good listen, to perhaps add it to a playlist or two. 

Then you misplace your note and promptly forget the note, the title, the song and whatever mood it evoked for many, many days. 

Until you stumble upon the note again. 

So, you queue up the song, give it a good listen and think, "What the heck! What was I thinking?" 

It isn't, mind you that the song was suddenly horrible. It just wasn't striking. Or rather, as striking. It is an okay song. It is (or was) a popular song. It has been covered by many artists, I have discovered. 

Maybe it was just the day, or time of day, or . . . I don't know. Whatever it was to me at that first listen it is no longer. 

Perhaps it will be again.  

Sunday Kind of Love

Or not.  

Middle

middle of the month.  

middle of a road. 

middle of life. 

I have aunts on both sides of the family tree who are over 90. Both are in fact a stone's throw from the century mark. So I may very well be very well in the midst of a middle passage. The thought of being of this earth for the next 30 or more years is a tad . . . daunting.   

To say the least. 

Still, there are many things I want to do, many more I want to see, hear, feel, and taste. The world awaits. Or whatever portion of the world I shall choose to take by storm, awaits. Storm may be a bit strong. 

To say the least.  

I am a year, six and a half months away from my sixtieth birthday. And while I am at present devoid of energy, motivation, inspiration or hope beyond getting into and through the next twenty-four hours, twenty-four hours at a time, I know this too, shall pass. I know, I know. . . I have work to do to get from here

to there. 

To say the least.

sixty... 561 days and counting 

At What Point . .

 . . . does staying indoors as a result of being an introvert become something else like . . hermitism?

Or what does the beginnings of agoraphobia look like? Feel like? My mom suffered from agoraphobia. The manifestation was extremely present during my teen years. She was unable to go outdoors for the most part and suffered severe bouts of anxiety at the prospect of same. When did that begin? Or was it always a thing that got progressively worse?

Medications and therapy quieted the anxieties to a point where she was able to function. But of course, being anxious was always part of her being.

While I am not feeling particularly social these days, I am also not feeling particularly anxious at the prospect of being outdoors, among people, in social interactive situations. Nor am I feeling particularly anxious over not feeling particularly social and deciding to stay in over taking myself out to a movie, or brunch, or even the grocery store.

Is what I'm experiencing the introverted me being spent over the daily social interactive experiences by the time the weekend rolls around?

Or . . . . ?

just kinda thinking outloud

           

click for more

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Welcome to Friday

"We have to live together."

Fun Day

Pete may or may not have been having fun. Buttah, though seemed 

to be enjoying himself. 

Feeling more like Pete these days. 

#MicroblogMonday~ go check 'em out. 

F * R * I * D * A * Y

so much to say, so little time (and headspace) to get it together. 

in the meantime, to my friends who are fighting the fight 

rock on. 

Fresh(er) (Re)Start

Charles Alston Art 

However many days ago I posted I silently promised that I'd post more frequently. It isn't as though good (and bad) things are happening most every minute of most every day. The problems are 1. deciding if any of those things are story worthy. 2. mustering up the creative energetic flow to tell any of the decided upon stories. 3. Feeling like something other than eating, drinking, sleeping, working, and worrying about all those things (or rather, the effect) and more in unequal measure.

Long story short, I'm lost. Yes, I'm grieving runs deeper. I don't know who I am or what I want, for me. Or, I want too many things for me and

I can't sort it all out 

I can't sort it all out 

I can't sort it all out 

That said, the mandala lessons have helped. The daily prompts have ended as it was a 30-day journey. But, as of last weekend I completed up through lesson twenty-one. I will complete the others in my own time and space, as noted in some previous post. The 30 day journey will continue well beyond and beyond. 

Still . . . being alone, silent, sans color and light except when forced to be otherwise is the order of most days. The goal is to embrace those moments of joy, to seek them out, to create and extend that which brings the joyful noises. 

To wit: happy birthday wishes go out to my aunt (94) my brother (52) and my son (32). Congratulations to my daughter who has just completed the 2nd quarter of a culinary program and powered her way through the end (finally) of a toxic romanticized relationship. I am so proud of her while at the same time sorry I couldn't be more helpful. She says differently but I think she is being kind.

My son (the actor) is cast in a play opening soon with two more booked back-to-back. He has a small part in the pilot of a series premiering in a few weeks. He has auditions for two more screen projects in the coming days. He is writing again.

And I went out on Saturday, spent some time with some wonderful ladies via one of the meet-up groups. We watched an enlightening film followed by energetic conversation. That kind of thing should happen more frequently. 

Like writing. Like art. Like laughter.

Like, celebrating life. 

Third Sunday In June

Another picture perfect Sunday, on the outside, the aftermath of much needed rain, barely visible.

Pictures are not always what the seem.

On this third Sunday in June, designated "Father's Day" I've spent barely a moment thinking about my dad and even less about their dad. My son, daughter, and I were all here together for a good part of this day and that, in and of, itself, is cause for celebration. We had a handful of meaningful conversations that led to a handful of revelations.


Catharsis, or catharses comes to mind. Each has spent part of this day ruminating over focus and dedication toward the next stages of their respective days, weeks, months, and quite possibly, years.

I've spent a considerable amount of time today in my own state of rumination as my own life has taken some turns and is about to turn again. For better or worse, time will tell. For this day, however, and the couple leading to it? far from the bike ride in the park of the most carefree of summer days.

My present may very well become my past but it could also become my future. I was shown a picture of myself today and though I disagreed with the accompanying hypothesis, I can relate to and respect the sentiment presented.  

I read this quote somewhere, don't recall where and didn't take note of the author, so forgive the lack of credit, "Let your past make you better, not bitter." I feel like that quote has been the cornerstone of my entire existence.

This third Sunday in June, this Father's Day, turned out to be grand mother of days, existentially speaking.

not crying, but there are tears

Whatever crying I do is done in private.

Quietly. 

In my room, in the shower, in the darkness of a theater. 

Silently. 

Without witnesses and very little evidence. 

But this isn't about crying. 

It is about tears. 

Allergies have attacked my eyes which have produced tears. 

A lot of tears. 

Additionally, I'm not sleeping very well at night and as a result grow very, very tired during the midst of my workdays. The train rides home turn into yawning marathons. 

Serial yawning produces tears. 

A lot of tears. 

Most of the other commuters ignore me and my waterlogged face. Some pretend to ignore but are clearly disturbed. While others, disturbed and concerned, ask outright, "are you okay, is there anything I can do for you?" 

Nothing to be done except take the anti-allergy meds, try to get enough rest, and keep my pockets stocked with tissues. 

never let them see me cry*

the week tested my mettle in more ways than one. it made me cancel plans to celebrate with my very dear friend one of those milestone birthdays. missing the event pained me deeply and will haunt me for days, if not weeks to come. it made me concerned over my financial present and scared me shit-less over my financial future. it made me cry. it made me sick. it made me tired, weary, and just . . . damn.

but.

i held it together, mostly.  thanks in large part to the presence and help of a new friend.  her listening to me this week, the silver around all the clouds.

she and i are navigating a path toward being more than friends. but for now a friend is what i needed and a friend is what she's been and for that i am truly grateful.  that said, traveling the path toward more . .  the thought, the moves, those feelings made the week bearable and the prospect of beyond, brighter, no matter what.

*six word saturday submission   

a ha

For days I've felt a little . . . off, for lack of a more descriptive word. I thought it was tiredness brought on by too much work and too little rest. Or perhaps a malaise brought on by dreary weather accompanied by inexplicable? bloating, achy knees, odd cravings, emotional jags.  


Then I attributed the out of step feeling with the chore of first, reading (objectively) and then commenting to my dad about the material he sent. The material, in and of itself (though truly a chore) didn't upset me overmuch but the fact that he, of all people, would send me (among other material) a booklet titled, "How to Raise Responsible Children" really set my teeth on edge.


Oh, then there was an aching tooth. 


Two thoughts however, never crossed my mind as possible causes for the turbidity of  my daily experience in recent days, weeks.  One: this. and Two: the actual cause or perhaps more accurately, the root: P M freakin' S! 


That's right sports fans, yours truly is having an unplanned visitor.  At fifty-one. After over a year. 


It has been so long I misread all the tell-tell signs. The bloating, the cravings, the tiredness, the insomnia, the . . . everything. 


Oy to the Vey.


For all that, now that there is a face on the issue, now that the situation is flowing, so to speak, I'm much better. Well, not better in the sense that I am intensely annoyed at having to deal with this again, still. But, now I fully understand with what I'm dealing and can therefore be more focused on that root. There are known remedies. 


Still, I find myself on this Thanksgiving Eve quite thankful and full gratitude. Miss Flo and achy knees aside, there is my good health, the good health of both and actor and his sister (though she has been suffering with a wicked cold and upper respiratory infection over the past several days) and being able to put a full dinner on the table tomorrow that we will all share (along with my mother). We will trade stories old and new, laughs, and the like. And as much as I lack enthusiasm for the process, the shopping and prepping, I am overwhelmingly enthusiastic over the end result, the fullness of body and spirit. 


Happy Thanksgiving to one and all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to shoo the actor away from the ham (again).

A Beautiful Day

It’s a good thing I don’t have a window in my office / work space. The sun shone (or at least it was shining every time I got up to pe… well, got up) all day today. I could tell by the temperatures in the office (and the weather gadget on the home page) that it was very warm as well as sunshiny outside. It would have been even harder to concentrate on work today.

Today will likely wind up being the best day over the next several, but by mid-to-late February standards, the next several will still be pretty good days, provided the current forecast holds true.

Good news, which brings me to my point, being outdoors.

I am not outdoorsy in that hiking, camping, wind-surfing into your life, kind of way. I’m an urban girl, a pounding the pavement, walking, running (not for awhile now, but at one time), and biking (on solid ground) kind of girl. I like being outdoors in that way. Over the last few years I have even enjoyed rooting around in the little piece of earth in the front of our building. I won’t go so far as to say I’m a gardener by any stretch, but I have had some success and have enjoyed the fruits (though technically, I haven’t planted any consumable items—yet) of my labors. Neighbors have approached with praise for the effort.

I smile, nod, and thank them kindly.

It is still a long way from great, but as someone told me recently, your garden is never done or something to that effect. I’m looking forward to getting back into the mix. So with that, I’m eagerly anticipating many more sunshiny, warmer temps, melting snow, and getting out in the yard weather.